


To Paris, With Love

by iarrod



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amnesia, Anxiety, Depression, Despair, Established Relationship, Falling In Love, Family, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Heavy Angst, Lots of Crying, M/M, Makkachin Lives, Marriage, Mentions of Smut, Mild Language, Mutual Pining, NSFW, Suicide Attempt, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-08
Updated: 2018-09-21
Packaged: 2018-11-29 07:48:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 105,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11436378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iarrod/pseuds/iarrod
Summary: Two years after the silver medal at the Grand Prix Final, Yuuri finally won the gold medal. Day One of married life was perfect.... until memories were lost.





	1. Lovers in a Wreck

**Author's Note:**

> Special THANK YOU to my betareader "honeyberriez"; "niedolia" for the tumblr post on Russian pet names; "lazuliblade" for the general and specific info on figure skating!

Winter mornings in Barcelona were unbelievably cold, but there was a warm sense of immense bliss when one decided to hide under the covers with a lover. One such person relishing in the sweet embrace of love was Viktor Nikiforov, who had been watching his sleeping beauty for a while now.

 

 _“Ah~”_ Viktor sighed, _“I won’t get over how unbelievably lucky I am that I could wake up every day to see this adorable face.”_ He could feel his heart overflowed with love again as his cerulean blue eyes caught the glint of a ring on his lover’s fourth finger. Viktor smiled as he gently lifted that right hand to place a kiss on the platinum ring.

 

 _“And to think that forever is finally ours now, with these rings,”_ Viktor thought, looking at his own platinum ring and then back at his beloved, _“Katsuki Yuuri, my husband.”_

 

Viktor had anxiously waited for the day he could put this wedding ring on Yuuri; two years too long.

 

Since Yuuri’s first silver medal Grand Prix Final with him as his coach, Viktor had made a successful comeback in the month’s Russian Figure Skating Championship (Russian National) with the gold medal. He had been unusually hyped to set the bar higher to challenge Yuuri, who was supporting him from the audience. He knew it lit a fire in his then fiancé and they skated against each other in the subsequent World Ice Skating Championships and then meeting again at the Grand Prix Final. Yuuri finished behind him in both competitions but Viktor knew that Yuuri was not about to give up, nor would he allow himself to let Yuuri take the gold with ease.

 

Viktor needed Yuuri to earn the gold from him, and only then can he finally wed his fiancé.

 

Viktor had to wait another year before the Yuuri took the gold medal in the Grand Prix Final. Viktor was more than proud of Yuuri for beating his world record again and the shy grin on Yuuri’s face when Viktor kissed his gold medal as his coach was forever etched into his memories.

 

But the blushing face smeared by tears of happiness when Viktor slipped the wedding ring on Yuuri was by far, his most cherished memory. It was a precious moment that they shared together in the privacy of their hotel room where no one could object to their marriage. As they kissed, they vowed that nothing could keep them apart for as long as they wore their wedding rings. And true to their vows, clothes did not keep them apart that night as Viktor embraced his dearest husband as gently as he intended to before the melody of his own name amongst the moans and gasps drove him to make mad selfish love to Yuuri. And now, in the afterglow of their first love making as husbands, he was afraid that he might have overdone it.

 

“Good morning, Yuuri,” Viktor kissed Yuuri’s forehead. Yuuri shifted in his arms and sleepily mumbled something in response. Viktor smirked and answered, “It’s almost noon.”

 

Yuuri jolted from the bed and instantly regretted it. He winced as he curled back onto the bed and into Viktor’s arms again. Last night was definitely something they hadn’t done before and all that vigor was taking a toll on his body. His arms were sore for some odd reason but he could understand why his back, hips and thighs were aching; and his bottom was sore from all the loving he received from Viktor, who made love to him with stamina he never possessed before. Yuuri blushed red when he recalled how embarrassingly loud he moaned Viktor’s name the night before.

 

“Yuura~nyaa~” Viktor grinned at his husband’s adorable reaction and hugged him close, “Even after all these years, you still make that face every morning.” Yuuri hid his face under the covers and squirmed in reply, but Viktor’s concern still weighed heavily on him.

 

“Yuuri?” he patted his husband, “Are you hurt? Do you need ointment? Should I call up the reception to extend another night? Our honeymoon can wait another day, until you feel better.” He placed a kiss on the top of Yuuri’s head and apologized, “I’m sorry for going overboard last night.”

 

There was silence for a moment before Yuuri shook his head and grumbled from beneath the covers, “Vitka, you did it too many times.”

 

“Really now?” Viktor sighed in relief and teased, “Weren’t you the one asking for **_MORE_**?”

 

Yuuri did not verbally deny it but Viktor felt a quick and painful pinch on his nipple as a response. His yelp quickly turned into laughter as the giggling Yuuri looped his arm around Viktor’s waist. They savored their moment of domestic bliss for a little while longer before Yuuri decided to sit up and gave Viktor a morning kiss.

 

“Good mor—” Yuuri stopped, and he blushed red again, feeling something oozed out of his bottom. Viktor could only stare in confusion as Yuuri turned away from him in a hurry, snatched the covers and stood up. But with all his clumsiness and his aching back combined, Yuuri tripped on the covers and fell disgracefully onto his knee. He could feel his own face heated up in embarrassment as he turned back to look at Viktor, who immediately called out to him.

 

“Yuuri! Are you alright?” Viktor’s face was pale with worry when he looked down at Yuuri from the bed. Yuuri nodded to assure his husband that he was physically alright but when Yuuri saw that his Russian husband was licking his lips at the sight of the semen trickling down his thighs, tears brimmed in Yuuri’s brown eyes.

 

“Vitka, you idiot!” Yuuri wailed and buried himself inside the white covers on the floor. _“If I can die of embarrassment, this is it!”_ Yuuri thought.

 

“Wow~,” Viktor exclaimed with a grin, “I really came a lot inside you, Yuuri.” He moved to cuddle Yuuri’s safety bubble and found the opening to caress Yuuri’s soft black hair, and then he tried to coax him to come out with promises of kisses but Yuuri wouldn’t budge.

 

“I guess I’ll have to take the responsibility of what I’ve done by cleaning you up,” he said and lifted the bundle of Yuuri into his arms. Yuuri frightfully held onto Viktor’s neck for fear of falling and when he looked at his husband, Viktor was not smiling. There was deep sadness in his blue eyes.

 

“Yuuri,” Viktor rested his forehead on Yuuri’s, “You’ve really lost a lot of weight.”

 

“I’m sorry, Vitka,” Yuuri could only apologize.

 

Yuuri knew that Viktor had noticed how he controlled his nervous binge-eating by eating very little or nothing at all during the days leading up to a competition and he was secretly glad that Viktor did not broach the issue. Instead, he found it endearing when Viktor had picked up a new habit of ordering more than enough food for two persons whenever they had their meals outside. Yuuri would try to eat as much as he could allow himself to but would always leave some of his food untouched. Viktor was not pleased and it showed on his face, but Yuuri always managed to brush it off with a smile and a kiss.

 

With the Grand Prix Final over, Yuuri thought that he should make amends and suggested, “When we get home, let’s make lots of katsudon for dinner.”

 

Viktor nodded in agreement with a smile, “We need to fatten you up again!”

 

Yuuri laughed along as Viktor carried him towards the bathroom. As soon as they entered the bathroom, Yuuri caught a glimpse of the mirror and he gasped, his eyes transfixed on the reflection of Viktor’s back. The once smooth and pale skin was full of red scratch marks from his waist and all the way up to his shoulders. Yuuri knew he was the culprit behind those marks and grew flustered again as he repeatedly apologized to Viktor. Viktor only smirked and placed Yuuri on the flat surface beside the sink. He pulled the covers down to Yuuri’s waist, revealing all the love bites he had left on his husband’s body in return.

 

“Vitka!!” Yuuri gasped and thought, _“Oh no, how am I going to hide these!? AND THAT?”_

 

“I will not apologize for all of these,” Viktor murmured close to his skin and kissed a very obvious mark on the nape of Yuuri’s neck. Their eyes met in the mirror’s reflection. “You’re my lover and husband,” he said and his eyes turned sad again, “I want everyone to know that, and not speak of it as something horrible.”

 

Yuuri turned to give his husband a kiss. He knew Viktor’s predicament stemmed from Yuuri himself, and their relationship.

 

Ever since their kiss at the Cup of China, the media had been focusing their attention on their love life and finally made a scandal out of it after the Grand Prix Final, where they first sported their engagement rings. Yuuri’s confidence sank to record low and his anxiety rocketed sky high when both national and international journalists and paparazzi swarmed his home in Hasetsu to demand for details and explanation about his sexuality, his relationship with Viktor, and answers to a rumour that he had previously made sexual advances on Viktor.

 

Viktor watched the Japanese silver medalist became withdrawn and he knew that he had to protect Yuuri, as both his coach and lover. He consulted with Yuuri’s family and got their consent to immediately pluck Yuuri from Japan and hid him in his apartment in Russia, where he thought would have lesser prying eyes, and better security. Instead, a much bigger foe materialized against them when they returned to Saint Petersburg, and Viktor was thankful that Yuuri had yet to learn the Russian language to fully grasp the gravity of the issue at hand. Despite the gossips and slanders, Viktor stayed by his Japanese lover’s side protectively as he prepared for the Russian National.

 

When Viktor broke his own record at the Russian National and dedicated his gold medal to his lover in the privacy of their home, Yuuri realized that his love for Viktor and figure skating was far more priceless than anything else they had to face. He finally began practicing in earnest and promised Viktor that he would do anything to keep him in his life and if breaking a world record could shut the media up, then he swore to break the world record as many times as he needed to.

 

“Hey, Vitka?” Yuuri called out to him and asked with a shy smile, “Don’t you think the covers look a little like something … the way it is like this?”

 

Viktor curiously looked down at the white covers he had brought along with Yuuri. It had entangled around Yuuri’s waist and legs, and its end was hanging off the tabletop in such a way that it almost looked like, “A wedding dress.”

 

Viktor grinned and locked Yuuri in the tightest bear hug, “YUURI IS MY BRIDE!” And that was one of the reasons he fell deeper in love with Yuuri, the man who had grown from being emotionally dependent on Viktor to a lover who can comfort both their insecurities.

 

“And our honeymoon awaits,” Yuuri reminded him, “So… help me clean up?”

 

Viktor grinned and began fondling his husband all over again as soon as they got into the shower. Yuuri had to be the responsible one of the two by constantly slapping or pinching Viktor’s hands to keep his morning lust in check, and he did not miss the evil glint in Viktor’s eyes. His own heart skipped a beat at the realization that he might have had just awakened another perverted personality in his husband. Yuuri sighed but secretly looked forward to more adventures between the sheets with Viktor.

 

When it comes to packing, Yuuri was the better half of the two. He had a check list for packing and made sure he only packed everything he needed with spares in case of emergencies. Viktor, on the other hand, was an impulsive traveler who travels light; and ships everything with him. He would have things that he needed as well as things that he didn’t need delivered to him, and he almost always forget to bring important items, especially his own passport. Knowing that, Yuuri took charge of packing for the both of them every time they had to travel, and didn’t relent when Viktor wanted to bring unnecessary items, such as his favourite framed photograph of the two of them on a date. Yuuri only relented once on the issue of packing when he finally conceded to Viktor’s persistent and suggestive hints of buying two matching luggage bags; he needed a new one anyway.

 

Once Yuuri had packed the last of their used items into one luggage, they were ready to set out for their honeymoon. Viktor stood at the door with the other identical grey-coloured luggage bag and grinned at his flustered husband, who kept re-tying his blue scarf to hide the hickey on his neck. Yuuri shot him annoyed glances whenever he unknotted his scarf to redo it again in vain. In the end, he resorted to circling the scarf around his neck and chin in such a way that would arouse suspicion even on a cold winter’s day. Viktor stifled his laugh as he undid Yuuri’s bulging scarf to loop it twice around his neck and tied a ribbon knot that easily hid the hickey. Yuuri muttered a soft “thank you” to Viktor, who pouted, begging for a “thank you kiss”. Yuuri sighed and gave Viktor a quick peck but Viktor wanted more.

 

“Vitka, we have a train to catch,” Yuuri reminded him. Viktor was not unwilling to give up on bribing his husband for kisses, but he mentally made plans for Yuuri to make up for them later tonight; it may or may not involve that scarf around Yuuri’s wrists.

 

“To Paris!” Viktor exclaimed and Yuuri grinned along as they walk out the door, gloved hand in gloved hand.

 

They made their way down to the lobby rather quickly, with Yuuri’s brown eyes darting left and right for signs of the usual paparazzi, and finding none. Viktor also took a careful glance at their surrounding when he exited the hotel to hail a taxi. He had little love for the media since his relationship with Yuuri became a scandalous headline but he also understood that the journalists were doing their job, as unethical as they were. This time, however, he would definitely hate them if they managed to come along on his and Yuuri’s first honeymoon as husbands.

 

Both Viktor and Yuuri barely made it onto the train bound for Paris at the Barcelona Sants Train Station. By the time they found their seats, almost every passenger on board had already put their luggage away and found a comfortable position in their seats. The couples were into each other, while others had their noses in a book or were staring out of the window with music in their ears. No one seemed to notice the odd pair of Russian and Japanese men taking their seats. Viktor gave a final glance at the other passengers and sighed in relief knowing that they were not followed by anyone suspicious.

 

Yuuri took the seat by the window and removed his gloves and scarf; his wedding ring glinted in the afternoon sun. Viktor had a sad smile on his face again when he sat beside Yuuri. He pulled Yuuri’s right hand close to his heart and let his head fall onto Yuuri’s shoulder. He didn’t care if he looked completely heartbroken because Yuuri should know how much his weight loss had hurt him to see the ring that should fit Yuuri perfectly, didn’t.

 

“I wonder how the weather in Paris is like,” Yuuri tried to take Viktor’s attention off his ring. Viktor remained quiet as he easily turned the platinum ring around Yuuri’s finger. Yuuri could feel his guilt drowning him again, “Viiitkaa~~~ I promise I’ll eat more.”

 

“Until you become a little piggy?" Viktor asked with a pout. Then it was Yuuri’s turn to pout.

 

“Not that much,” Yuuri answered.

 

“I should have taken better care of you,” Viktor admitted softly.

 

“You have, Vitka,” Yuuri told him, “I was the one being stubborn.” Viktor agreed with a laugh.

 

Viktor and Yuuri huddled close together as the train sped towards Paris for the next 6 hours. They briefly chatted about nothing in particular before Viktor got serious and discussed the routines they had done for the Grand Prix Final; where they had done right and where they could further improve. Yuuri took notes of everything Viktor had said and was already mentally ready for their next season to begin. He was sure they would make history again, together.

 

Halfway through their journey, Viktor dozed off leaning onto Yuuri but Yuuri couldn’t rest. His heart was beating fast with excitement the closer they got to their destination. Yuuri tried to distract himself by logging onto the Internet to look up for restaurants and sightseeing spots in Paris but soon realized that he had accidentally made an itinerary of their impromptu vacation. Yuuri couldn’t hide his sheepish grin when he looked down at the man sleeping on his shoulder, and gently placed a kiss on the silver head.

 

Yuuri remembered how they got into an argument when they couldn’t agree on a destination for their first anniversary vacation. Yuuri suggested Paris but Viktor stubbornly refused it without a reason. They didn’t speak to each other for the rest of the day until Viktor finally confessed to him that night, on their bed, that they will never be legally married or have a ceremony solemnizing their love; and that alone was reason enough for him to selfishly wish to go with Yuuri, as husbands, to Paris, the City of Love, as a ritual of sort to celebrate their wedding.

 

“I love you, Vitenka,” he whispered to romantic husband. Viktor hummed in his sleep as if in reply, and Yuuri giggled softly.

 

Yuuri kept his mobile phone and notebook away before staring out at the setting sun. He calculated that they would arrive at the Gare de Lyon Train Station in Paris in time for dinner and wondered if Viktor liked the restaurant he picked out. He could show it to Viktor when he woke up and they could decide together. Katsudon will have to wait until they get home to Saint Petersburg.

 

An ear-piercing screech of brakes on metal jolted Yuuri from his thoughts. His blood ran cold as he watched a train from the other direction swayed violently. Something was going terribly wrong.

 

“VITKA!” Yuuri wrapped his arms protectively around Viktor and braced for the crash that came almost immediately. Yuuri could hear the loud barrage of metal crashing on metal and the shattering of glass as they were thrown around the carriage. Then, everything became dark and silent.

 

Viktor had woken up at the shout of his name but his mind couldn’t register what was happening until the world around him had come to a halt. When his mind had slowed down to process the wreck that they were in, he was staring up at his unconscious husband’s face.  

 

“Yuuri?” Viktor called out.

 

Yuuri’s brown eyes were barely open. Blood trailed from the back of his head to drip off his cheek and onto Viktor’s face. He moved to check on Yuuri, but quickly realized that he was trapped by Yuuri’s strong arms, and that they were both pinned between the passenger seats. Viktor could barely breathe as he felt himself squashed between Yuuri and their seats; and he could almost feel the hard end of the cushion. He tried to look for a way out but his eyes widened in a panic when he saw the blood on the hard plastic behind Yuuri’s head.

 

“Yuuri!” Viktor called out again as Yuuri’s head slumped beside his. Viktor’s heart could have stopped if he had not heard the slow breaths by his ear and the slight pressure of Yuuri’s rising chest on his. Viktor wanted to touch his husband, to let him know that he was there for him, but even that was denied to him. He could only helplessly cry out Yuuri’s name in the midst of wails and cries of pain from other passengers. 

 

“YUURI!!!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!  
> Talk to me on tumblr here : https://iarrod.tumblr.com/  
> Or on twitter here : https://twitter.com/iarrod  
> If you want to support my writing, please consider buying me a coffee here : https://ko-fi.com/A043T8W


	2. Strangers Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made my beta honeyberriez mad.  
> Please note that there is no name spelling error in this chapter:  
> Yuuri = Japanese Katsuki Yuuri  
> Yuri = Russian Yuri Plisetsky

Viktor’s quiet mind was intruded first by the echoes of hurried footsteps; then the smell of medicine in the air; then the sight of plain white ceiling; and finally, feeling the lethargy coursing through his body as he tried to sit up on an unfamiliar white bed.

 

 _“Where am I?”_  Viktor thought and noticed a young man dozing off on a chair by his bed, _“And who is that?”_

 

The young man with blonde hair shivered and clutched at his black jacket as he hugged himself. He opened his green eyes to check on Viktor for the umpteenth time and jumped to his feet when he saw that Viktor was already staring at him. There was an instant sigh of relief and then a soft smile appeared on the familiar man’s beautiful face.

 

“Viktor! You’re up! I’ll go get the doctor and Yakov!” he said and turned around for the door, his long blonde hair in a ponytail whipped around with him as he turned. Viktor only watched the tiger at the back the young man’s jacket disappeared behind the brown door in a daze.

 

 _“Yakov? Tiger?”_ he thought as he slowly processed the information that he had, _“Yuuri Plisetsky?”_

 

Viktor remembered the boy who was his junior under the same coach in Saint Petersburg, but he had slightly longer hair and was not as tall as the man he just met. He tried to recall if Yuri had an older brother but as he tried to focus on it, the faint sensation of needles poking his brain intensified. Viktor stopped thinking about it and decided to look at his immediate environment. With the horrible looking blue gown on him, Viktor was sure he was at a hospital, but he couldn’t remember why or how.

 

 _“What happened?”_ Viktor wondered, _“Did I fall during practice?”_

 

He moved his legs, feeling the usual muscle sores on his thighs and calves, but his breathing alerted him to unusually increased abdominal muscle sore. He wondered if he had been overdoing his abdominal exercises as he stretched his arms. His eyes landed on a platinum ring on the fourth finger of his right hand, but before Viktor could think any further, the door opened and Yuri walked in with Yakov. Viktor turned to them and noticed that Yakov seemed a little older than he remembered, but the identity of the young man beside him still bugged Viktor.

 

“The doctor will be here in a moment,” Yakov stood beside him, “Vitya, how are you feeling?”

 

“Fine?” Viktor answered and his eyes turned towards Yuri, “Yakov? I don’t remember Yuuri having a brother…”

 

“HUH!? I AM YURI PLISETSKY!” Yuri retorted, “I don’t have a brother! Did you knock your head too?”

 

“Sir, please keep your voice down,” a nurse’s voice came from the door, then a tall and muscular doctor stepped in after her. Yakov and Yuri immediately made way for them and looked on as the doctor conducted a routine check on Viktor. Yakov felt a sense of dread spreading within him when Viktor seemed unaware of the man he called his lover.

 

 _“Yakov! Yuuri is…”_ Yakov could recall how Viktor’s voice broke when he received a call from the hospital.

 

Yakov genuinely hoped for the best when he caught the next flight to Paris with Yuri, who insisted on coming along. Yakov knew that he will be needed to answer the journalists in Viktor’s stead because the man himself would most definitely be too distraught to do so. He had even prepared a list of questions to go through with Viktor about the incident, but when Yakov and Yuri arrived at the hospital, they were told that Viktor had fainted and had yet to wake up. There was nothing that the two of them could do but to wait. Yuri chose to stay in the ward with Viktor, but Yakov was determined not to waste time, so he talked to the nurses.

 

Yakov gathered that Viktor was found relatively uninjured and had accompanied Yuuri to the hospital after they were rescued from the train wreckage, and was also the one who provided Katsuki Yuuri’s personal information to the hospital apart from listing Yakov Feltsman as an emergency contact number. The nurses even highlighted to him that Viktor became hysterical when he was forced to the outpatient clinic but had considerably calmed down by the time his cuts and bruises were given treatment. They admitted that they were all too busy and didn’t pay Viktor any notice until he suddenly fainted in the crowded waiting room.

 

“Do you know where you are, Mr. Nikiforov?” the doctor asked Viktor with a French accent.

 

“Hospital?” Viktor answered with uncertainty.

 

“Do you remember coming here?” the doctor asked.

 

“No,” Viktor looked at Yakov over the doctor’s shoulder, “What is going on?”

 

“You were in a train crash, Mr. Nikiforov,” the doctor told him, “You lost consciousness after coming to this hospital. Do you recall any of that?”

 

“What?” Viktor gasped, “I don’t…” He forced his brain to remember despite the throbbing pain. He remembered the flashes of cameras and himself on the ice with two other skaters, “I just won gold at Sochi. There’s a banquet tonight. Why would I be on a train?”

 

“Sochi?” Yuri repeated. He walked up to the bed and looked at Viktor in disbelief, “Oi, what year is it?”

 

“2015,” Viktor answered almost immediately. Everyone in the room held their breaths.

 

“Mr. Nikiforov,” the doctor cautiously began, “The year is 2018.”

 

Viktor’s mind refused to comprehend what was spoken to him next. He could see the doctor’s lips moving but he couldn’t hear a word of it. Yakov’s voice became a jumble of murmurs and Yuri’s shouts were like drums banging in his brains. Viktor’s eyes could see what was happening in front of him but he couldn’t understand any of it.

 

 _“Why is Yuuri grabbing the doctor? Why is the nurse in a panic? Where is Yakov going with the doctor? What happened to me? How long have I been asleep? What happened to my skating career?”_  Viktor’s mind swirled with questions and he held his head in his hands, noticing the glint from the ring on his finger again.  

 

“Yuuri,” Viktor’s voice was soft and timid when he called for the angry blonde who remained by his side. Yuri’s expression softened at the helpless look on Viktor, whom he knew to be confident to the point of being boastfully full of himself sometimes, but also annoyingly lovestruck whenever he was with his figure skating rival, student and fiancé. Yuri was sure that Viktor would be asking for that pig next.

 

“Why am I wearing this ring?” Viktor asked. Yuri stared at him in horror.

 

 _“Yurio! Yuuri is getting something better than gold tonight!”_ Yuri remembered how ridiculously annoyed he was when Viktor shoved the two platinum rings to his face at the banquet just two nights ago. He would have knocked the rings out of the box if Viktor had not been so overprotective of them but Viktor was not angry, he only winked at him before strutting off to find Yuuri. And that was the last time Yuri saw the two lovebirds sharing a happy moment together as fiancés.

 

“…you don’t remember?” Yuri reached out and grabbed Viktor by his shoulders. He tried to control his shock when he mentioned the nickname, “Katsudon?”

 

“Kazu…what?” Viktor’s face was full of question. Yuri’s shock morphed into anger. He walked further into the room and forcefully pulled the curtains apart, revealing another patient whose lower right leg was suspended in a cast. Viktor peered from his bed but he could barely see the face of the man that Yuri wanted him to recognize.

 

“KA-TSU-DO-N!” Yuri shouted the syllables at him, but Viktor remained puzzled. Yuri’s hand shook and tears threatened to blur his eyes, “KATSUKI YUURI!! YOUR-”

 

“YURI!” Yakov bellowed from the door. Yuri stared at his coach’s grim face. He didn’t realize Yakov had returned but Yuri knew he had listened enough to understand the situation. “I need a word with you. NOW,” Yakov said and Yuri reluctantly followed him. Viktor felt the sudden heaviness in the air and realized that Yuri was avoiding his eyes as he walked past him. Viktor remained silent even when Yuri slammed the door shut behind him. He turned to the other patient beside him.

 

Viktor stood by the bed of the patient named Katsuki Yuuri, noticing how the back of his head was heavily bandaged. He tried to look past the cuts on the man’s face and the possessive love bite on the right side of his neck, but Viktor could not recall any memory of this man or his name. Viktor understood well enough that he should know about this man because Yuri seemed furious when he had no response to this man’s existence. His eyes wandered down along the man’s body and stopped at his right hand. Something was not right but he couldn’t tell what.

 

 _“Maybe if I could just touch that hand…?”_ Viktor hesitated before he cautiously reached out for Yuuri.

 

“What are you doing?” an angry voice stopped Viktor, “Do you remember him now?”

 

“Stop being so angry, Yuuri,” Viktor’s arm dropped to his side when he turned back to Yuri with his usual goofy grin, and proceeded to climb back onto his bed, “I can’t help what I forgot anyway. Besides, it’s been like that my whole life. You know that too, don’t you?”

 

“This is not your ordinary forgetfulness, Viktor,” Yuri told him, “Didn’t you hear what the doctor just said?” Viktor’s eyes sparkled for him to continue. Yuri sighed and began, “The doctor said you might be suffering from amnesia due to the psychological shock from the crash.”

 

“I see,” Viktor hummed.

 

“He said you might recover them in a few days, after the trauma has passed,” Yuri went on and then added, “Anyway, Yakov has asked for a full body checkup on you; just to make sure that you are fit to go back to practice. So you are going to stay here for another day or two.”

 

“Got it,” Viktor nodded. He looked down at his ring and reminded Yuri, “You still haven’t told me why I am wearing this ring. You avoided the question just now.”

 

“’HELL IF I KNOW!” Yuri exploded and walked out of the room in a rage. He would tell Viktor if he could. He almost told him if it wasn’t for Yakov, and now that old coach forced Yuri to make a promise; to not tell Viktor about his relationship with Katsuki Yuuri until he remembers it himself.

 

And Yuri hated how he could see the best in that foul promise.

 

He understood that Yakov intended to take advantage of this incident as a springboard to boost Viktor’s dwindling reputation in both the Russian and international athletic community. Viktor’s relentless effort to claim another gold medal in the upcoming Russian National could be used as proof to the world that Viktor Nikiforov remains the best figure skater in the world despite being involved in the most horrible train crash of the century. But Viktor’s infamous homosexual relationship with Katsuki Yuuri will prove to be disruptive in salvaging his wayward reputation. Yakov could not undo the affair but he could put distance between them now that Viktor had no memories of the man.

 

Yakov reluctantly became the villain to secure Viktor’s future because the boy was like a son to him and he dreaded the path that Viktor had taken without his consent. He did not disagree nor agree with Viktor’s decision but as he watched the Viktor’s brilliant reputation dimmed because of it, he had to rescue him. He would even dare to say that he wasn’t only doing it for Viktor, but also for every other competitive figure skater, especially Katsuki Yuuri, because the public had already begun to look at the entire category of the sport with disgust after the duo’s scandalous engagement. While Yuuri felt most of the damage, the other skaters had also lost their motivation, resulting in lower overall scores in subsequent competitions around the world.

 

The fact was that competitive figure skating as a sport was in danger of being labeled as a gay sport. And it didn’t end there; the entire Russia was in an uproar questioning their national hero’s sexuality.

 

And yet, despite everything, Yakov didn’t dislike Yuuri. He even saw potential in the young man and gave him advice when his utterly inexperienced coach overlooked Yuuri’s mistake. He would admit that Yuuri invoked his parental instinct, but he would not go as far as the Russian Yuri and call him “family”. Yakov himself was taken aback when Yuri stubbornly argued with him to go to France after hearing the news and along the way, he cursed and prayed and wished that Viktor and Yuuri were among the luckiest who escaped the train crash perfectly unharmed. He ignored the news of hundreds who died in the crash; he cared only for the two out of the surviving hundreds who were injured.

 

Yuri walked into Viktor’s ward the next day and found him staring at Yuuri again, standing two feet away from the bedside. His own heart broke a little when he saw the physical distance between the two of them, when there would always be none. Yuri clenched his fist around the doorknob at the realization that he would become an accomplice to put even more distance between the two of them soon. He unconsciously closed the door with a loud click and disrupted Viktor’s concentration in searching for the memories of the man before him. Yuri looked at him apologetically when Viktor turned to him.  

 

“Remember anything?” Yuri asked. Viktor shook his head sadly but when he looked up next, he had the usual goofy smile on his face.

 

“Well, I tried but since I can’t remember this man, he’s probably nobody important!” he declared.

 

 _“You will regret those words,”_ Yuri felt his anger boiled inside him and wanted to shove Viktor’s own words down his throat. Then he heard a breath hitched, and realized that he was crying, from both the anger and heartache. Yuri wanted to help them. He wanted to tell Viktor about Yuuri. He wanted to see Viktor being so stupidly in love with Yuuri again. He wanted them both back.

 

“Yuuri? Why are you crying?” Viktor walked over to him and wrapped his arms around the younger man, and finally noticing his height, “Wow~! I didn’t realize that you are almost as tall as I am! And you are still a growing kid! Aw~ I remember you being only up to my shoulder, Yuuri.”

 

“Don’t call me that,” Yuri tried to master his voice and pushed Viktor away from him, “My name is Yuri.”

 

As much as he loved Yuuri, he also hated how Viktor began to adopt “Yurio” as his pet name since the events in Hasetsu, Japan. He didn’t mind the name because it somehow made them feel closer but it still felt as if Yuuri stole his name when Yuuri came into Viktor’s life. Yuri was so jealous of the Japanese skater and even competed with him for Viktor’s attention during practices. Yuri had wanted more guidance from Viktor but the living legend himself was always too busy swooning over his lover on the ice, even if Yuuri had just taken an ungraceful fall.

 

“I just came to tell you that I’ll be returning to Saint Petersburg first,” Yuri told him, “There are some things Yakov wanted done before you get back to Russia.”

 

Yuri left soon after and Viktor did not have time to ponder about Katsuki Yuuri again as he was whisked away by nurses after nurses from different departments of the hospital for the rest of the day. Viktor complied with every examination as he understood the risk of greater injury during practice if there were any minor injury that escaped the initial examination. His life completely revolved around the ice and he couldn’t bear to miss practice, or worse, be forced to retire from an injury before… before…

 

 _“What lies beyond my career?”_ he caught himself wondering, _“What else do I need to achieve before I retire?”_ He was already a legendary skater with world records. There was nothing beyond what he had already achieved apart from breaking his own records again and again but where would that take him? What else was there for him on the ice? Was there no one he could spend his life with?

 

Viktor finally returned to his bed in the evening, but his cold and numb heart stirred him to go to the man lying in a coma next to him. He sat on the chair by the bed and gazed at Katsuki Yuuri. His heart was heavy with an unexplained worry for the man and he had a thought to hold that seemingly cold and dry hand, but Viktor stopped himself. He kept his hands to himself and watched over his Japanese roommate until his own body screamed for sleep.

 

Viktor sat beside Yuuri again the next day. He had changed into his casuals and a coat, and his only belongings were packed into a tote bag by his side. He was cleared for discharge by the doctors but Viktor was reluctant to leave and asked Yakov for a few extra moments with his roommate of a few days. Yakov relented out of guilt and walked out of the hospital to greet the journalists on his own.

 

“Viktor Nikiforov only sustained minor injuries in the crash,” Yakov told them, “I have spoken to the doctors and had him examined. The doctors concluded that his injuries will not affect his performance at all and he can go back to practice in Saint Petersburg after a few days of rest.”

 

“What about Katsuki Yuuri?” a reporter asked.

 

“He,” Yakov hesitated, “He has yet to regain his consciousness but the doctors are confident that he will wake soon enough.”

 

“Will he recover in time for the next Grand Prix Final?” another reporter asked.

 

“It is hard for me to comment on such question,” Yakov admitted, “Please wait for more details when they become available.”

 

“Why were they on the train to Paris?” Yakov had been waiting for that dreaded question and he had prepared a simple answer.

 

“I cannot comment on that,” Yakov answered.

 

Between the heads, cameras and microphones, Yakov saw a woman and a man got off a taxi in a hurry and he grabbed his chance to escape the journalists and their questions. Yakov excused himself and walked over to Katsuki Mari and Morooka Hisashi, who had just arrived at the hospital directly from the airport. He graciously led them into the hospital to speak with the doctors, and also to buy Viktor a little more time with Yuuri. And besides, Yakov needed to speak to Mari and Hisashi about something else.

 

 _“Just another five more minutes,”_ Viktor told himself as he stared at the Japanese man’s face, _“Just another minute. Just one more minute.”_ He wanted to stay and didn’t understand why his heart was unwilling to leave, but he knew he had to. _“I’m sorry, I have to-”_ Viktor stopped with a gasp when he caught the faint flutter of eyelids moving. He stood up to bend over him, “Yuuri?”  

 

Yuuri’s vision was a blur at first but when his eyes finally managed to focus, he saw a foreign man with silver hair hovering above him and spoke a word that Yuuri couldn’t comprehend with his hazy mind. The man looked worried as he waited for a response. Yuuri blinked, hoping that it was answer enough and thought he could drown in those teary blue eyes that looked back at him. Then the man was gone from his vision, and he could hear him shouting.

 

 _“Stay with me,”_ Yuuri wanted to call out to him, but he could only stare blankly at the ceiling above him. A tear unknowingly fell from the corner of his eye, _“…_ _Vitka_ _.”_

 

Yakov, Mari and Hisashi stepped out of the elevator to a commotion. The three were already in a nasty disagreement at the doctor’s office when Yakov forced Mari to take Yuuri back to Japan to recuperate from his injury as soon as he woke up. Mari could smell foul intention and she refused to listen to Yakov even though she knew that getting Yuuri back home would be the most convenient way to care for him. In her attempt to defy Yakov, Mari even suggested that she would stay in Saint Petersburg to care for Yuuri. Hisashi could only nervously look on as the two went head to head. But right now, all three of them had the same identical shocked expression as they watched the nurses tried to calm the frantic Viktor.

 

“He’s awake!” Viktor exclaimed in a panic, “Please, get the doctor!”

 

Hearing that, Mari ran past the crowd and into her brother’s ward. She had heard from the doctor about Yuuri’s injuries but when she saw him lying motionless on the bed, tears fell from her eyes as she took in the injuries that Yuuri suffered. The fractured right ankle in a cast; which the doctor said would heal but can no longer withstand the numerous impacts from skating practices. And his head wrapped in bandages; which the doctor warned could affect his memories.

 

 _“What more did Yuuri have to lose in that train crash?”_ she asked herself, feeling on overwhelming pity for her little brother, who worked so hard to get his first gold medal on the international stage.

 

“Yuuri?” she called out to him, and held his cold hand, “It’s me, Mari. Your sister. Can you hear me?”

 

Yuuri tried to speak but his voice failed him. His throat felt like a barren desert and he could feel the cold and unfiltered air flowing into his lungs with every small breath he took. Mari quickly moved to adjust the bed’s position and helped Yuuri to sit up before she reached for the jug on a cabinet by the bed. She poured a glass of water and gently raised the glass to Yuuri’s lips. Yuuri sipped on the water, and struggled to swallow the liquid down his parched throat. Mari raised the glass again and Yuuri’s throat greed for more, causing him to cough and spilled some water onto his blue hospital gown.

 

Viktor felt his heart tightened at the sound of Yuuri’s pants for breaths. Hisashi stood beside him, and Yakov stood on the other side with a hand firmly on Viktor’s arm. Viktor suddenly found himself immobile at the door. He stood with his feet frozen in place as the doctor who had previously tended to him walked into the room with two other nurses. Viktor watched Katsuki Yuuri’s confused face turned horrified when the three hospital staffs in white huddled around him, asking questions that he couldn’t answer.

 

“Do you know where you are?” the doctor’s voice asked first. There was no answer, _“I don’t know.”_

 

“Do you recognize this woman beside you?” he asked. There was no answer, _“I don’t know.”_

 

“What is the last thing you remember?” he quizzed. There was no answer, _“I don’t know.”_

 

“What can you tell me about yourself?” the doctor feared the worst.

 

“I don’t know,” Yuuri’s voice as soft as a whisper, and coarse. He was drawing short breaths and he was very clearly frightened from the way his hands clutched at the blanket. Viktor forcefully freed his arms from Yakov’s grasp and strode into the room to stop in front of Yuuri’s bed. He strongly believed that he was needed there.

 

“Yuuri! Do you know who that is?” Mari asked, pointing at Viktor. Again, Yuuri had no answer.

 

But as Yuuri’s brown eyes stared at the man with silver hair at the feet of his bed, his quick breaths calmed and he was overcame with a sense of familiarity and comfort by just the man’s presence. The doctor noticed the change but he nodded to the nurse beside him. She understood and began to pull the curtain to separate Yuuri from Viktor.

 

“Mr. Nikiforov, this is strictly for immediate family only,” she told Viktor. He felt the urge to argue against her but he had nothing to prove that he was needed there. He clenched his fist, feeling the platinum ring around his finger dig into his skin at his own frustration.

 

“Ah!” Viktor looked up. The Japanese man was flustered but he seemed to be calling for him. “Thank… you,” he managed to utter weakly with his sore throat, and smiled. Viktor knew that Yuuri must have felt incredibly vulnerable at the moment and yet, he still put on a brave front to thank him even though all he had done was to panic. A wrong sort of yearning for this man blossomed within Viktor and he wanted to walk closer to him; to hug him; and to kiss him. Instead, Viktor only stood there reflecting the man’s smile with a soft smile on his face.

 

“Vitya, it’s time to go,” Yakov pulled Viktor’s attention away from the Japanese man. He nodded at his coach and turned back to Katsuki Yuuri again.

 

“I hope you get well soon, Mr. Katsuki,” Viktor said, “Goodbye.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	3. Katsuki Yuuri

 

Everything vanished; the past and the future.

 

Katsuki Yuuri didn’t know his name. He didn’t recognize the faces of his family, nor recall their names. He couldn’t remember a single moment from his childhood days, or skating on the ice for his entire adult life. All he could remember was the newly forged memory of a man with silver hair and his beautiful blue eyes.

 

Yuuri remembered feeling his heart ached when the man bid him goodbye, and he quickly found himself wishing for him to stay. He tried to call out his name, but his name turned into a silent gasp. Yuuri’s vision blurred with his own tears as he watched his right hand reached out for the spot where the man had just stood. He knew the man had a name; he was sure he knew the name; but he couldn’t remember. Yuuri remembered feeling his sister’s warm arms around him next, but he remained inconsolable for the next hour. He understood that the man was as foreign to him as every other person around him then, but Yuuri couldn’t deny that he felt safe in that man’s presence; and he longed for him to be by his side again.

 

Yuuri constantly caught his mind wandering back to the memory of the man whenever he felt anxious, and also feeling the lingering phantom weight of a ring whenever he touched the circular mark around the fourth finger of his right hand.

 

“Excuse me, was there a ring?” Yuuri asked a random nurse who came to check up on him. He had contemplated on asking about the ring for a few days now, and it seemed just as awkward to ask his sister.  

 

“Do you remember something?” the female nurse looked hopeful.

 

“Ah,” Yuuri looked down at his finger again, “No. It’s just that, there’s this mark. I thought I had one.” The nurse’s smile faltered for a split moment in disappointment before she covered it up with a sympathetic smile again, but Yuuri didn’t miss it. He noticed that he had only been getting those looks ever since he woke up to his new blank life, and it made him feel uncomfortable. _“Maybe I shouldn’t have asked,”_ Yuuri regretted.

 

“I’m sorry, Mr. Katsuki,” the nurse said, “You were carried here in just your clothes. I’m afraid there was no ring on you. Not even your mobile phone, wallet or passport in your pockets.” Before Yuuri could ask how they know who he was, the nurse told him the answer, “A man had given us your information.”

 

“A man? Who was he?” he asked, hoping for a name that he might be able to recall.

 

“I’m afraid I can’t tell you that, Mr. Katsuki,” she answered truthfully.

 

“Was he someone I knew?” Yuuri asked. The nurse’s silence was answer enough for him. And then he saw it again, the look of pity aimed at his direction. Yuuri forced a smile and said, “Thank you. I’m sorry for asking.”

 

When the nurse left, Yuuri looked at his hand again. He knew the mark was proof that he had been wearing a ring prior to losing his memory but nothing had been said about it during his reminiscence therapies in the past week. He had sat with his sister while the therapist guided her to chronologically clue Yuuri in on his entire life in hopes of triggering any memories, but he could recall nothing. He couldn’t remember how his life revolved around ballet and figure skating, but Yuuri felt that a bigger part of his life’s story was missing from his sister’s stories.

 

 _“Who was with me on the train? Why did I come to France?”_ Yuuri often wondered.

 

He had asked his sister about his life in Russia before but she didn’t have a clear answer for him other than the fact that he was training with his Russian coach. He didn’t know if Mari intentionally hid something from him or if she didn’t know what he had been doing since he left Japan, but he wanted to trust her in his hopelessness, even if it made him more vulnerable to lies. Yuuri could only rely on Mari for stories of his forgotten life, however little she was willing to tell him, but she called him family and Yuuri wanted to have faith in “family”.

 

His professional life as Japan’s top figure skater was filled in by the other man who came to France with Mari. He was not his brother, as Yuuri first thought, or brother-in-law, but was a representative named Morooka Hisashi sent by the Japan Skating Federation (JSF) to take on the role of Yuuri’s spokesperson. Yuuri didn’t understand why he needed a spokesperson but from the way Hisashi ardently told him about his achievements and world records he had broken in his career, Yuuri accepted that he was quite an accomplished athlete whose wellbeing needed to be reported on. So, he let Hisashi take charge of speaking to the journalists on his behalf.

 

“I am relieved to tell you that Japan’s top skater Katsuki Yuuri has awaken,” Yuuri heard Hisashi on the live news on the TV in his room while Hisashi met the journalists who had gathered at the hospital for days to get the latest updates on him. His spokesperson continued, “He has suffered a fractured ankle and trauma to the head, so his memory is a little bit fuzzy at the moment, but please rest assured that Katsuki will heal with time. As for his return to the sport and his future plans, I cannot tell you much for now.”

 

Yuuri noticed that Hisashi kept to his professional persona when he spoke to the journalists and intentionally downplayed the information given to the media regarding his injuries. He knew Hisashi was half lying but he had no better answer than the one given. Yuuri turned off the news and wondered if he was needed to skate again. He wondered if his body remember how to. He wondered if he should start training from zero again.

 

He tried to make plans to continue his life, just as his therapist suggested, but everything seemed bleak to him right now. What good will making plans do for him if Yuuri was unable to continue the life he had forgotten? He looked down at his right ankle, now out of the cast and in a splint, and recalled the words the doctor had told him. Yuuri’s doubts bubbled to the surface again.

 

 _“The fracture to your right ankle will not affect regular daily activities once it is fully healed in about 2 to 3 months. However, it will take much longer for you to return to your sport and as your doctor, I do not recommend continuing your career. You will be putting too much stress on your damaged ankle during trainings, which will ultimately lead to much more injuries later on,”_ the doctor’s words replayed in his mind.

 

The doctor’s face was grim when he suggested Yuuri to end his career. Mari cried and Hisashi hung his head in devastation. But despite being the person whose future was at risk, Yuuri felt nothing. He couldn’t comprehend how his imminent retirement in a sport he didn’t remember competing in would affect his future even though Mari and Hisashi repeatedly told him about the thousands of hours he had put into training since he was a child to finally get to where he was. But Yuuri could remember none of those efforts, as if it didn’t matter to him.

 

Yuuri had thought that he could make do with a brand new future; to start all over again on another path but he quickly came to the realization that everyone was expecting for the figure skater Katsuki Yuuri to return. He was not even given time to consider his options. They immediately put him into therapies; to get him to remember; and to get him used to the crutches. Yuuri felt like he didn’t have a choice. He had to force himself to remember who he was. He had to become Katsuki Yuuri again, and he began to despise himself for failing.

 

Even in his earnest struggle to remember, he had only being giving everyone around him reasons to be disappointed and their pitiful looks were getting harder and harder to ignore. He tried hard to recall events that Mari told him but he couldn’t remember anything. Hisashi showed him articles and videos of his own skating but it felt so detached from him, as if he was watching someone else on the ice. When Yuuri lay down in the darkness of the ward, he forced himself to search inside his brain for Katsuki Yuuri’s memories. He would try for hours until he cried himself to sleep in frustration at finding nothing in his memories. 

 

Sometimes, in the midst of his sleepless nights, Yuuri would find comfort in the brief memory of the foreign man whose name still eludes him, but with every attempt, he thought he saw the face blurred a little more and Yuuri began to fear that he was also losing his new memories. He wanted to reach out to the man in his memories; to beg him to stay, even if it was only in his memories. Yuuri needed someone who didn’t look at him with disappointment and pity. He only felt love when the man looked at him, and Yuuri longed for him again.

 

Perhaps one would also call it love when Mari asked Yuuri if he wanted to go home to Japan with her; but in truth, she only gave Yuuri the illusion of choice to go home to a family that he couldn’t remember, or to return alone to his apartment somewhere in Russia. Yuuri had contemplated about Russia at first but Mari had made it clear to him that she couldn’t care for him in Russia and neglect her work at home, and he knew living alone in a foreign country that speaks a different language was unwise; and that was how Yuuri decided to go home to his family.

 

When the three of them landed in Japan, they found the arrival hall at the airport swarmed with journalists and supporters who waited for hours to welcome their national figure skating champion, Katsuki Yuuri.

 

Yuuri’s fear grew the closer Mari pushed him on the wheelchair towards the exit where they were promptly greeted by flowers, banners of well wishes and flashes of cameras. Hisashi had told them that they couldn’t avoid the journalists who would be waiting, and he briefed Yuuri on how to speak to them during their flight. Yuuri noted them down on a small piece of paper and memorized the lines as they flew home. His hands shook as he removed his surgical mask to give a fake reassuring smile to the cameras. For once, Yuuri was glad that he lost his glasses in the train crash. The blurred sight before him was a momentary relief to his inner self right now.

 

“I apologize for causing much grievance and thank you for your continuous support,” Yuuri began his mantra. He gulped and wondered if his insecurity was showing on his face. Everyone came to see him because they cared for him in some way but no one knew about the severity of his amnesia. They did not realize that he was not the Katsuki Yuuri they had been waiting for, but Yuuri had to pretend that he was still Japan’s hero.

 

“I am truly sorry to inform everyone that I will be taking a break from figure skating until I am fit to go back to practice. I hope you can give me some time and privacy to recuperate,” Yuuri continued. There were murmurs coming from behind the journalists and Yuuri could hear the sound of disappointment drowning him again.

 

 _“I am sorry that I am never going back onto the ice,”_ he silently admitted to everyone out of guilt.

 

“What about Viktor Nikiforov?” a journalist snapped Yuuri’s attention back to the present. Yuuri stared at him. He was not prepared for that question. Hisashi had not mentioned it before.

 

 _“Who?”_ Yuuri wanted to ask but Hisashi quickly responded, “Mr. Nikiforov will continue his training in Saint Petersburg. His schedule remains unchanged.” Hisashi’s mobile phone rang and he spoke to the journalists, “Thank you for coming all the way for Katsuki Yuuri, but I am afraid our ride has arrived. Please make way.”

 

The crowd parted obediently and Hisashi led the way for Mari to push Yuuri through. As Yuuri rolled past the crowd, he could hear words of encouragements and well wishes for his recovery coming from all directions. He thanked them and waved back with a weak smile.

 

 _“Their words were not meant for me. Their wishes were not meant for me. They were meant for Katsuki Yuuri,”_ Yuuri’s mind told him.

 

A white van sent by the JSF was waiting for them outside the exit. The driver gave them a polite bow and offered Yuuri help to get onto the van. Yuuri accepted the hand and sat stiffly on the seat with his crutches beside him. He waved to the cameras again as he was instructed to and waited as Mari and Hisashi finished loading their luggage into the back of the van. Yuuri brought nothing home, both figuratively and literally. He did not bring his memories home and Mari had gotten rid of the bloodied and torn clothes that he was found in. Yuuri was now wearing a new set of clothes that Mari had bought in France for the journey home.

 

Yuuri looked out of the window as the van sped through the highway and entered the town of Hasetsu just as the sun was setting. Everything looked foreign to him, but also felt vaguely familiar, almost like déjà vu. Yuuri knew Mari and Hisashi were throwing glances at him whenever they passed by a spot. He would take a hard look with his blurry vision before turning back to them and slowly shake his head to indicate that he had no recollection of the place. Then, Yuuri saw it again; the look of disappointment on their faces. He quickly turned back to the window to hide the tears that threatened to brim in his eyes. As the van rolled under the “Yu~Topia Katsuki” sign, Yuuri saw a small group of people began to gather outside the resort’s entrance. Yuuri looked at Mari and Hisashi, fearing for the worst, again.

 

“They are family,” Mari told him with a smile, “Everyone is waiting for you.”

 

“Then I don’t need to pretend?” he asked uncertainly. Mari hesitated for a moment before she nodded. Yuuri understood what that slight hesitance conveyed; he didn’t need to pretend to remember because they knew, but that didn’t mean that he could stop pretending to be Katsuki Yuuri. He drew in a deep breath to calm his nerves before he stepped out of the van with Hisashi’s help.

 

“Yuuri!!” everyone called out to him as soon as his better foot touched the ground. Three identical children rushed up to him and would have knocked Yuuri off his foot if Hisashi had not held onto him. Yuuri looked to his side and thanked Hisashi, who merely smiled and squeezed his shoulder reassuringly.

 

“YUURI! Do you remember us!?” the triplets echoed. Yuuri turned back to look at their faces and apologized. He could see their hopeful faces turned sorrowful as their heart broke. “I’m Axel. This is Lutz, and that is Loop!” the middle one told him. Yuuri tried to remember but he could barely tell the three girls apart by their faces. Axel pulled on her two pigtails, and then on Lutz’s bun and turned to the other side to pull on Loop’s ponytail. “Axel, Lutz, Loop,” she tried again. Yuuri could tell them apart now and he nodded at them with a smile.

 

“Yuuri! We love you!” the triplets hugged him tightly all at once.

 

“Hey!!! Stop it, you girls!” a young woman called out to them. Yuuri looked up from the girls and saw the flustered look on her face. She met his eyes with a sweet smile and said, “I’m sorry about my girls, Yuuri. I’m Yuuko, does it ring a bell?”

 

Yuuri shook his head. A hand patted hard on his back and he looked up at a man, bigger and taller than him. The man grinned down at Yuuri, “No worries. We’ll be sure to get you to remember all of us Nishigori again. I’m Takeshi! I was your best buddy back in childhood!”

 

“Don’t you mean ‘bully’?” Yuuko complained as the triplets stood beside her again.

 

Yuuri heard Takeshi going behind him and fear flashed past his mind when he felt Hisashi’s hand loosened its grip, but it was quickly replaced by a much firmer grip. He looked to his side and saw that Takeshi had switched place with Hisashi while he turned back into the van to get Yuuri’s crutches.

 

“It’s all the same!” Takeshi brushed his wife’s comment away and prodded Yuuri to look at another direction. Yuuri turned away from the buff man and his eyes softened at the sight of an elderly couple, whom he recognized from the photos on Mari’s mobile phone; Katsuki Toshiya and Hiroko, his parents.

 

“Yuuri, Mari, welcome home,” Hiroko said with tears in her eyes. She couldn’t conceal her joy to have her son back home alive.

 

Two weeks ago, they were still celebrating his Grand Prix Final gold medal at the dining hall when they got a distressed call from Yuuko, who was in turn contacted by the Russian, Yuri Plisetsky. Mari was the one who picked up the call and broke the news to her parents; Toshiya was visibly worried while Hiroko dropped all the sake on her tray in shock. Toshiya did not stop Hiroko when she dashed for her car keys and wanted to drive to the airport to catch a flight. Mari was the one who stopped her and insisted that she would go instead. Hiroko only calmed down after finally understanding her daughter’s argument that she could not speak English or French, and would have been more trouble than help to Yuuri.

 

Hiroko and Toshiya waited impatiently for a call from Mari and broke down when they finally saw the photos of Yuuri at the hospital, looking horribly injured, thin and pale. Mari had to explain them over the phone about Yuuri’s conditions and they were devastated, but it was much more than they could have wished for when they first heard the news. They thought they had lost him forever, but seeing Yuuri right before their eyes now with his head wrapped by a strip of bandage and his right foot out of the bulky cast, they could only feel blessed.

 

“Welcome home,” his father greeted the two of them with a smile. Mari gave her parents a grave look and a slight shake of the head from behind Yuuri, then she turned away to unload her luggage. Their hearts sank at the realization that Yuuri still remembered nothing.

 

“I… I’m home,” Yuuri managed to say, and then timidly added, “Mom, Dad.” They smiled again, wider this time.

 

“Your mom has made you your favourite katsudon!” Toshiya announced in his usual merry attitude and laughed, “I’m sure you will remember everything once you have a bite!”

 

Yuuri smiled awkwardly along. He took the chance to break eye contact with his father when Hisashi returned to his side with the crutches. Yuuri slipped his arms into the crutches’ loop and gripped the handles. He could still feel Takeshi’s careful grip on his shoulder as he balanced himself on the crutches without leaning on him. Yuuri stared at the road beneath him uncertainly as he did not know what else to do or say to the people he once knew but forgotten. Luckily for him, Toshiya understood his son’s silence and he tried to usher everyone into the resort.

 

“I hope everyone will stay for dinner!” he guffawed and nudged Hiroko to lead the way inside, “Come on! Come on! Let’s all get inside! It’s still freezing out here in December!” Toshiya watched silently as Yuuri followed behind Mari and smiled when recalled how the little Yuuri would stick especially close to Mari whenever they were in an unfamiliar place. Toshiya thought, _“Yuuri may have forgotten home, but Yuuri is still Yuuri.”_  

 

Toshiya turned to Hisashi and smiled, “I hope you gentlemen will join us too.”

 

“Thank you, Mr. Katsuki. You are very kind,” Hisashi answered, “But I’m afraid I have to report back to work. And I can speak for the driver as well.” Toshiya nodded. He walked up to the young man and offered his hand for a shake. Hisashi accepted it.

 

“Mr. Morooka, thank you for everything you’ve done for Yuuri,” Toshiya said to Hisashi, “We owe you a great debt. Please do come by for a meal or to relax in our hot springs when you have the time, it’s the least we could do to repay our debt.” Toshiya knew that the young man had done much more than he was paid for when Yuuri got into the crash. He was the one who called up the resort a little while after Yuuko and arranged for Mari’s flight to France; he even came to pick Mari up to the airport.

 

 “It is an honour to be of help, Mr. Katsuki,” Hisashi bowed and added, “I know I may have lied to the journalists, but I do sincerely hope to see Yuuri back on the ice, against all odds.”

 

“As do we all,” Toshiya agreed, but they both knew that the possibility of Yuuri’s return as a figure skater was slim. Toshiya sighed and then said to Hisashi, “We will take good care of Yuuri but whatever he decides to do next, I will fully support him.”

 

Yuuri sat awkwardly and silently at the table as he listened to the voices of the people who were familiar with him. He only gave a nod or a smile when he was talked to, or apologized for not remembering when someone mentioned an event from the past to him. But when his mother put a bowl of katsudon in front of him, his eyes sparkled as he looked at the crispy deep-fried pork cutlet with egg on top of rice. It smelled heavenly and he could almost recall this smell from his deepest memories. All his troubles seemed to disappear for a moment while he enjoyed the tastiest rice bowl in his life.

 

“Is he home yet?” a woman appeared at the dining area where everyone still sat even though they had long finished dinner. Yuuri looked up at her and recognized her from one of the photos he was shown; Okukawa Minako, his ballet instructor. He smiled at her and thought she looked much younger than his own mother despite being the older one of the two. “Yuuri! How are you doing?” she asked brightly.

 

“Um, alright?” Yuuri could only reply as he shifted uncomfortably under her gaze.

 

“Minako!” Hiroko greeted her, “Yuuri came home right after you left for your ballet class. Do you need dinner?”

 

“I’m fine. I had something on my way over,” Minako shook her head and then plopped down beside Yuuri, “So? Have you remembered anything?”

 

And it did not end with Minako. Every day, someone would come by the resort to ask him about his memories. Some of those people knew him personally and others were merely concerned passersby, but that did not stop Yuuri from apologizing to everyone every day because he couldn’t remember their faces, or whatever it was that they hoped he could remember.

 

Yuuri learned to put on a smile and listened to the conversations between his families and friends. They were kind to him and treated him as one of them, but Yuuri couldn’t help but feel left out. He tried but he couldn’t remember anything that they had brought up in their conversations even as they went through the photo albums together. He had seen photos of himself as a chubby baby, who grew up to be a cheeky toodler, and turn into a shy elementary school boy. The teenage Yuuri stood elegantly on the blades in an ice rink with his prize and his podium only grew bigger as he began a career as a competitive figure skater, and won medals as an adult. It was all him, but at the same time, it was not him.

 

He took out the photos and rearranged them in another album in chronological order with notes written on the sides; what had happened, where it happened and when it happened. He wrote down what he had said and how he had behaved during the event in certain photos. The photo album became an assignment to collect as much information on a man named Katsuki Yuuri as he could, because he had to impersonate that man; bcause he knew Katsuki Yuuri was no more.

 

The proof that he had a past faded a little every day along with the bruise on the right side of his neck. Yuuri was told that it was a love bite. And it was the only clue remaining on his body that convinced him of a past before he woke up to this blank life. He couldn’t rely on his memory and he took a risk in trusting strangers he did not know. He had tried to doubt Mari and he was convinced that his body remembered a ring but even that ghostly weight he felt on his finger had vanished along with the circular mark by the time he left the hospital.

 

When Yuuri looked into the mirror one morning, he felt his heart stopped at the horrific realization that the love bite on his neck had completely faded away. His breath froze as he felt the last thread that linked him to his past self finally snapped and he could no longer lie to himself that he was Katsuki Yuuri. But he was not allow to begin anew.

 

 _“Who was I!?”_ Yuuri stifled his cries. The mirage of the man from his first memory floated into his mind, and Yuuri found that he could not even clearly recall his face now, or the shade of his silver hair and his blue eyes. He silently begged him, _“Help me. Stay with me!”_  

 

“Yuuri?” he heard his mother called for him from downstairs, “Can you please help out at the reception today?”

 

“Coming!” Yuuri responded immediately. He shook his head to throw the thought to the back of his mind and put on the persona of a man named Katsuki Yuuri. _“My name is Katsuki Yuuri. I am a competitive figure skater. My sister is Mari. My father is Toshiya and my mother is Hiroko,”_ he repeated in his mind and smiled at the mirror, because Katsuki Yuuri would do so, and so should he.

 

Yuuri packed his photo album assignment into his backpack and carefully made his way down the stairs with his crutches. He had gotten used to his home and maneuvering in tight spaces, but he always felt apologetic for making noises whenever he moves around the resort that was mostly made out of wood. He tried to be discreet whenever possible and hoped he recovers fast enough to discard the crutches by March. Since his return, or arrival, Yuuri considered himself a burden to his family and he never spoke or did anything selfish, except for the time when he asked for more photographs which his family gladly gave him. He only ventured outside of the resort’s compounds for his routine checkups at the hospital and spent most of his time indoors to help around the resort.

 

Today, Yuuri sat at the reception and greeted the regular customers who walked in for their usual dip in the hot springs. He made a record in the customers’ ledger and looked around the table. There was not much he could organize again, and he couldn’t help with cleaning the bath or waiting tables when he can’t even balance himself for long on his better foot. He looked up and stared at the promotional posters of his favourite katsudon with a picture of his slender past self in the background. Yuuri suddenly felt self-conscious and looked down from the poster to poke at his bulging tummy. His father had teased him about gaining weight easily but his mother still indulged him with katsudon almost every other day, and it had only been a little less than a month since he came home.

_“Should I go on a diet?”_ Yuuri sighed and rested his head on the table, and fantasized a bowl of freshly cooked katsudon in front of him. He drooled, “But katsudon is delicious.”

 

“I wanna eat Katsuki-mama’s katsudon too!” a voice said cheerfully.

 

Yuuri gasped as he snapped his head up, and blurted in a hurry, “Welcome to-!”

 

“Hi~! Yuuri! How are you doing?” a tanned young man with short black hair peered down at him with a grin, “I got really worried when you didn’t reply my messages, you know?”

 

Yuuri had seen photos of him when Mari briefly went over the stories from his university days. He was told that a young man from Thailand named Phichit Chulanont was his roommate and best friend while he trained and studied in Detroit. But even after learning about Phichit’s existence, Yuuri kept hesitating and procrastinated on contacting him because he felt that he was being inconsiderate by asking Phichit, his best friend whom he could not remember, to help him fill in the gaps between the major events of his life in university. It never crossed Yuuri’s mind to think that Phichit would be the one to reach out to him first.

 

“Um, I’m sorry?” Yuuri awkwardly apologized for never replying to any of Phichit’s messages. He remembered how startled he was to receive dozens of notifications about missed calls and messages as soon as he turned on his new mobile phone after setting up the phone with the telecommunications company to retrieve his old number.

 

“You’ve gotten chubbier since December!” Phichit pointed out. Yuuri’s face flushed with embarrassment and he tried to hide his tummy with his arms. “Aw! You’re still so shy!” Phichit cooed, “You’re still Yuuri, after all!”

 

“Phichit…” Yuuri smiled a little. Even though he knew it was not the truth anymore, he was glad to hear it; that he was still the Yuuri they wanted him to be.

 

The first few days of Phichit’s visit were mostly spent outside the resort, with Mari being their designated tour guide to drive Phichit and Yuuri around the small town; stopping at tourist spots for selfies, peeking into shopping streets for souvenirs, and trying out all sorts of local delicacies. For Yuuri, his second experience of the town was much more enjoyable than his first, because his first tour was full of guilt for not being able to recall anything, but with Phichit, he saw the beauty of his hometown and thoroughly enjoyed those brief moments of respite, where he did not have to think about his past and no one mentioned anything about it.

 

But Yuuri could never avoid his past.

 

He would freeze whenever he heard whispers down the hallway; sometimes he could hear his name, and at other times it would be about something else. Nevertheless, Yuuri felt ashamed of himself and every time he heard whispers, he would quickly retreat back into his room and shut the door. He did not want to overhear how much his family and friends were disappointed in him for not remembering the past. He preferred the deafening silence in his room to the questioning whispers and disappointed glances he would receive from the outside. Yuuri’s only channel to unleash his thoughts was on his new mobile phone and tonight, his words were suddenly disrupted by gentle knocks on his door.

 

“Yuuri? Are you asleep?” Phichit’s voice was soft from outside.

 

“Phichit!” Yuuri’s heart jumped and he quickly called out in response as he set his mobile phone aside, “Wait a second.” Yuuri carefully crawled on his knees to the edge of his bed and reached out to unlock the door. Phichit smiled at him when he poked his head into the room.

 

“Come on in,” Yuuri invited as he settled down on his bed again.

 

Phichit stepped into Yuuri’s room for the first time since his visit and closed the door behind him. He caught a glimpse of a long text in Japanese on Yuuri’s mobile phone screen when Yuuri moved it away to make space for him on the bed. Phichit sat beside Yuuri, just like how they used to sit together when they were in their room in Detroit. He was glad that Yuuri grew comfortable enough to sit shoulder to shoulder with him when Yuuri had been maintaining both physical and mental distance from his family. At least, that was what he had heard from Mari.

 

“Sorry if I disturbed you. Were you in the middle of something?” he asked Yuuri, who immediately shook his head.

 

“I was just,” Yuuri looked away from him and back to his new mobile phone, “Logging my diary entry.”

 

“I see!” Phichit exclaimed and looked away with a sad smile. He had hoped that Yuuri was messaging a certain someone, even though Phichit knew it to be impossible. He used to tease Yuuri whenever the Japanese sweetheart tried and failed to hide his sheepish smile after a call from Viktor, who probably stayed up from wherever he was to make sure he called just before it was Yuuri’s turn to skate in a competition. But even in his reminiscence, Phichit did not fail to notice the tight grip Yuuri had on his mobile phone.

 

“Yuuri,” he gently called out to his senior in university, “I’m here to listen if you want to talk.”

 

Yuuri was quiet in his contemplation for a few seconds. He felt the rising urge to confide everything in Phichit; what the doctors said; what his family said; what his friends said; what he thought; what he wanted; what he needed. But instead, Yuuri put on his best smile and said, “Thank you, Phichit. I am alright.”

 

 _“Don’t do that, Yuuri,”_ Phichit stared in silence at the smile that he knew to be false, _“Don’t shut me out.”_

 

Yuuri turned away from Phichit’s heartbroken face and tried to lift the awkward silence in the air between them, “Um, you were looking for me?”

 

“Oh, right!” Phichit forced himself to lighten up, and he was thankful for the change of subject. He did not intend to make Yuuri uncomfortable, but he couldn’t hide his own heartache for not being able to share Yuuri’s pain, especially when Yuuri needed someone the most. Phichit dug the inside of his jacket and took out a brown envelope. He held it out to Yuuri with a grin, “Mari told me that you are making an album. So I got these printed out for you.”

 

“Thank you,” Yuuri accepted it curiously and he opened the envelope. He gasped at the bundles of photos in his hand, “These are…”

 

“Yep,” Phichit nodded, “These are photos from our university and skating days.” Phichit looked at Yuuri again with a soft smile, “Mari told me they have trouble telling you about your university days because you didn’t call home very often, so she contacted me.”

 

“Thank you, Phichit, thank you,” Yuuri repeated again and again, his eyes wet with tears of relief. He thought his family was hiding something from him when they only vaguely told him about his life after graduating high school but now he knew that was not the truth. He was just too far away from home for his family to keep tabs on.

 

“There are fewer photos from 2011 until 2013 though,” Phichit confessed, “I was three years your junior, so I was not in university until 2014. But I asked around for your photos among the seniors and classmates.” Phichit saw the slight panic on Yuuri’s face and he quickly added, “Don’t worry! I didn’t leak anything. I only told them that I needed them as a present for you. I stole some photos from their Instagram and Facebook though. Shhh~ That’s a secret!”

 

Yuuri began to smile again as he listened to Phichit’s adventures in collecting these photos for him. He was grateful for Phichit coming all the way from Bangkok to help him, but he also felt bad that Phichit had to skip practice for his sake. Phichit argued that he only took a week off and he would have rather taken two weeks off to stay with Yuuri if his new coach was not a stubborn ass. And Yuuri had to admit that without Phichit here with him at that crucial moment, he would have sunk deeper in doubt about his family and his history.

 

Phichit and Yuuri spent a lot of their time in Yuuri’s room after that night, where they chronologically paste the photos into Yuuri’s album and scribbled notes beside it. They had the most fun when they went through the photos from 2014 and 2015, when Phichit was enrolled into the same university in Detroit. There were dozens of selfies taken while they were doing their assignments with research papers littered all over their room, or over a simple meal, or at the university compound, or at the skating rink.

 

Phichit mentioned to Yuuri that they both trained in the same ice rink and under the same Italian coach while in Detroit. Yuuri laughed until his stomach hurt when Phichit did an impersonation of their coach Celestino and instructed Yuuri on how to do his jumps and how to move. Then Yuuri was aghast when Phichit revealed how he became friends with dangerous-looking thugs from the neighbourhood on one of the photos. But Phichit spoke of the event with proud admiration for Yuuri’s bravery when he challenged the thugs to a break dance after accidentally bumping into the thugs’, and thoroughly impressed them all with his dance skills.  

 

But their days were not always fun and sunny as Yuuri soon realized. He held a photo of Phichit on a hospital bed with him by the side. The Yuuri in the photo looked horribly pained but even so, Phichit still had the mood for a selfie with a weak smile.

 

“This was when I had an accident during practice,” Phichit told him, “It was just a bad fall after colliding with another skater, and I only sprained my ankle but you were so worried that you even lost sleep over me.”

 

Yuuri was still looking at the photo, and Phichit’s eyes trailed downwards to Yuuri’s ankles, still in a splint. Phichit did not tell Yuuri that he lost sleep when he first heard about the train crash just as he arrived home in Bangkok. By the time he knew about the crash, a full day had already passed and he quickly dialed Yuuri’s number, but it wouldn’t go through. He tried again and again and again and again all day and all night for the next two days, praying silently every time he tapped the “call” button. It was only in his despair that he finally called Mari to confirm Yuuri’s death and he cried with relief to learn that Yuuri was still alive but his heart quickly turned cold when he heard that Yuuri had lost all his memories in the crash. Then his brain almost stopped working when Mari told him about Viktor’s amnesia, and of Yakov’s plan.

 

Phichit knew everything. And he wanted to tell Yuuri everything.

 

He even argued with Mari over it in Yuuri’s absence but when Mari described to him how Yuuri had broken down in tears when Viktor turned away from him at the hospital, he realized that Yuuri’s heart still remembered him and Yuuri could mentally break if he knew about their relationship as husbands in Russia. Phichit relented when Mari mentioned to him that Yuuri will eventually find out about Viktor. They only needed to tell Yuuri what he needed to know, one thing at a time, until the time came.

 

“Hey, Phichit,” Yuuri called out to him one day as they were sorting out photos from the year 2016 on the floor of his room. He asked, “Why are there so few photos when I’ve been home for almost the whole year?”

 

Yuuri had collected so many stories from his university days from Phichit that his album had suddenly doubled in size. When Mari gave him a new stack of photos for his album earlier that morning, Yuuri thought that the end of his assignment was near but he couldn’t help but notice that there were significantly lesser photos from the final three years of his life to cover. Doubt began to lurk in Yuuri’s heart again, and he felt the dark suspicion that there was more than what they had told him.

 

“Well,” Phichit began hesitantly, “You graduated, and I went back to Bangkok.” But he knew that was not what Yuuri was asking about. “We were both busy training for the next season,” he explained, “But we still video chat sometimes. Then we met again at the Cup of China.”

 

Yuuri let himself be distracted by Phichit and his antics again as he talked about how they competed at the Cup of China. He brushed away the feeling that Phichit was also hiding something from him as he listened to Phichit trying his best to illustrate his Eros short program with words. Even Yuuri could tell that the erotic image was vastly different from who he thought Katsuki Yuuri was.

 

“That’s because you got a new coach, Yuuri,” Phichit steeled himself for the big reveal, and picked out a photo from the kiss and cry booth after Yuuri’s free program at the Cup of China. Yuuri stared at the man who sat beside him in formal wear and brown trench coat. He seemed strangely familiar, but Yuuri could not quite put a finger on it. “That’s your new coach,” Phichit held his breath and continued, “He is Russian and his name is Viktor Nikiforov.”

 

“How do I spell his name?” Yuuri asked as he pasted the photo into his album. Phichit spelled out the name as requested and stared at Yuuri, who scribbled beside the photo and then continued to look through the other photos from the 2016 bundle. Phichit had expected something more from Yuuri; confusion, panic, or anger. Yuuri should have remembered Viktor from the hospital but he seemed to not realize that it was the same man in the photo.

 

“Yuuri,” Phichit called out softly, “Do you really not remember?”

 

Yuuri’s hands stopped and he looked at his best friend beside him. It was the first time Phichit used the word “ _remember_ ” to question his memories, and Yuuri had to face the reality that Phichit was Katsuki Yuuri’s best friend, not his. Everything Phichit had told him was about the Yuuri from before the crash. Every word he wrote on his album was to get the old Yuuri back. It was never about himself. He had been enjoying himself so much lately that he forgot the most fundamental thing; that he was not Katsuki Yuuri.

 

“I’m trying, Phichit,” he answered with a forced smile, “But I still can’t remember anything. I don’t even get headaches when I try to remember. It’s like, there’s nothing to remember. Or maybe I’m not trying hard enough.” The laugh that followed after his self-depreciating statement was hollow and empty, and Phichit realized the misunderstanding between them.

 

“No, that’s not what I meant,” Phichit’s heart froze at the lifelessness in Yuuri’s eyes just before he turned away from him, and he could feel the distance between them as friends widened. _“Yuuri! You do remember Viktor! You have to remember him again!”_ his heart wanted to scream.

 

“Oh, it’s this late already,” Yuuri stared at the time on his mobile phone. It was only half past eight in the evening but Yuuri pushed on and apologized, “I’m so sorry to keep you up. You have an early flight tomorrow and you still haven’t packed your things.”

 

“Yuuri,” Phichit tried to interrupt him.

 

 _“Don’t call me that. That’s not my name,”_ Yuuri couldn’t voice it out. He wanted Phichit out of his room before he lost his temper. He inhaled and controlled his voice as he said, “I am tired, Phichit. I’m sorry.”

 

“Yuuri!” Phichit almost shouted. He was desperate to close the distance between them once again. He needed Yuuri to know that he was a friend. He grabbed Yuuri’s arm and said, “I’m here to help you!”

 

“There is nothing you can help me with!” Yuuri raised his voice, but he didn’t free his arm. He had longed for any form physical touch and he was willing to take it even though he did not want it at this moment. Fear and doubt overflowed within Yuuri and he burst out, “I don’t even know if everyone wanted to help ME!”

 

“Of course we do!” Phichit earnestly tried to convince him. His heart broke when he saw Yuuri rubbed away the tears in his eyes. He shifted his body to move towards Yuuri, to give him a hug and soothe his cries but he stopped when he felt Yuuri flinched in his grasp. He softened his hold on him, and said gently, “Yuuri, you are my best friend, and I would do anything for you.”

 

Yuuri wanted to believe him. He wanted to selfishly take everything that was beautiful from the old Yuuri for himself. He saw Katsuki Yuuri’s life from the album he was making; that Yuuri was confident and graceful on the ice; that Yuuri had family and friends who loved him so much; that Yuuri had a perfect life.

 

 _“No,”_ Yuuri’s inner voice gasped, _“There was a ring.”_ Everyone had been avoiding that small piece of jewelry ever since he woke up, and no one had mentioned anything about his lover when his body was littered with love bites when he woke up. Yuuri thought then that it would have been unimaginable for that perfect Yuuri to have such a perfect life without a perfect lover. There had to be one.

 

“Then tell me,” Yuuri’s voice shuddered as he tried to control his tears, “Tell me what everyone is hiding from me.”

 

“No one is hiding anything, Yuuri,” Phichit lied. He could not tell Yuuri about Viktor now, not when his heart was as fragile as glass now. He had to wait for a better time, maybe tomorrow, when Yuuri had calmed down. But Yuuri clutched the front of Phichit’s jacket.

 

“There was a ring,” Yuuri shook Phichit weakly and said, “I had a ring.”

 

“How did you know…?” Phichit stopped himself when he realized that he had just let his lie slipped away from him. Tears ran down Yuuri’s cheeks again and it was Phichit’s turn to look away. “Yuuri, I’m sorry,” Phichit said, knowing that he had probably lost Yuuri’s faith in him as a best friend.

 

“I knew it,” Yuuri looked at him in disbelief and repeated, “I knew it.” But Yuuri wouldn’t let Phichit go. He shook Phichit again and begged, “Please, Phichit. Tell me!”

 

“I’m sorry,” Phichit could not tell him. Not now.

 

“You said you’d do anything for me!” Yuuri cried, “Please! It’s the only thing I’ll ever ask of you.”

 

“Anything but THIS!” Phichit shouted. He gasped and quickly apologized, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to raise my voice. It’s just… Yuuri?”

 

Yuuri’s eyes widened in horror but he was not staring at Phichit. He did not even hear a word after Phichit shouted. His mind had always tried to connect the dots that were hidden from him. He knew about his life as told by his family and friends but no one told him about his life with his lover. And now, Phichit’s adamant reluctance had just made those invisible dots a little more visible and Yuuri came to a terrifying conclusion of his own.

 

“That crash,” Yuuri’s voice was a gasp, “Did he die?”

 

If words could kill, then asking for an answer to that question killed him. Yuuri felt his heart ached for a lover he could not remember as he wept. His mind recalled the news about the train crash and the gruesome photos that always followed. If his lover was among the dead, then that would explain why everyone was hesitant to tell him everything he needed to know about his love life. He had not even hear the answer and his own mind already broke him.

 

“Yuuri,” Phichit called for him again, and gently gathered the broken Yuuri into his arms. He said nothing, but tightened his arms around Yuuri whenever his wails got loud. There was nothing he could do for Yuuri right now but to hold Yuuri close as he cried onto his chest. And they sat there on the floor of Yuuri’s room until his sobs softened into sniffles.

 

“Phichit,” Yuuri call out softly, “Please, tell me.”

 

“He’s alive,” Phichit answered. If words could save lives, then Yuuri found the strength to breathe again, but he paused.

 

 _“He?”_ Yuuri wondered why he referred to his lover as “he” and why Phichit did not correct him. He needed answers, and when he looked up at the remorseful look on Phichit’s face, he had a feeling that Phichit was willing to give them to him.

 

“I can’t remember anything, Phichit,” he begged Phichit as he gripped his jacket, “Who is he? What does he look like? Does he wear the other ring? Where is my ring?”

 

Phichit’s face softened and he gently smiled as he released his hold on Yuuri to cup his face. He rubbed the tears away as if he wanted Yuuri to be brave for the answer. Even in his kindness, Yuuri could see the pain in Phichit’s dark eyes, as if the answer would hurt him as much as it could hurt Yuuri.

 

“Yuuri, his name is Viktor,” Phichit told him, “Viktor Nikiforov is your coach, and husband. He was there at the hospital with you.”

 

Yuuri gasped in disbelief and he turned away from Phichit. His hand reached out for his album; for Viktor; for that photograph that he so nonchalantly dismissed as another memory he could not recall. He finally had a name and a face to the mystery of his ring, but he still could not remember anything even as he tried to stare at the handsome face of his Russian husband in the photo with fresh tears stinging his eyes.

 

“Viktor,” Yuuri cried out the name as he lovingly rubbed the photo on the album, “Viktor!”

 

Phichit’s heart tore into pieces watching his best friend broke down this way. Even though he was the one who wanted to tell Yuuri everything, he was not prepared for the pain that it would cause the both them. He did not realize that being the bearer of the truth differed so much from just knowing the truth. He regretted everything and he would refuse to tell Yuuri any more about Viktor if it could spare Yuuri from more pain, and to spare himself from the pain of watching a friend he loved descend into a mental breakdown.

 

“Was he hurt?” Yuuri looked at him for more answers, “How is he? Where is he?”

 

“Yuuri,” Phichit hesitated and shut the album in his hands. Yuuri could almost see tears in Phichit’s eyes when he spoke to him next, “You’ve already forgotten him. There is no need to know, is there?”  

 

For a split moment, Yuuri wanted to agree with Phichit. Ever since he woke up, he had been inundated with photographic memories that he could not recall and he would have preferred to not know it all if he had a choice, but he wanted to know more about Viktor and the ring that he should have had on his finger. Even without his memories, Yuuri knew in his heart that he had a ring that meant more than the world to him.

 

“No,” Yuuri told Phichit, “I want to know. I want to remember Viktor Nikiforov.” Then Yuuri’s eyes teared again, “What happened to us, Phichit? Did we …break up?”

 

“No,” Phichit realize that he could not deny the first selfish wish Yuuri ever imposed on him and he did not stop himself from saying, “Viktor would never leave your side because he loves you so much; more than you can imagine.”

 

“Then, why isn’t he here with me?” Yuuri asked.

 

“I’m sorry, Yuuri,” Phichit cried, “He doesn’t remember you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!  
> Talk to me on tumblr here : https://iarrod.tumblr.com/  
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	4. Viktor Nikiforov

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My beta is still mad at me for this chapter.  
> Also, the Yuuri/Yuri confusion continues but keep in mind that Viktor refers to Russian-Yuri as Yuuri because he doesn't remember the events in Hasetsu, and thus he forgot that Russian-Yuri had become Yurio. So he calls him as Yuuri out of habit from calling his Japanese-Yuuri.  
> And, Makkachin is an immortal doggo. I know its lifespan has pretty much maxed out and killing off Makka seems predictable but there will be more angst for this chapter. So no, Makka lives.
> 
> P.S. I was looping this song as I write this chapter: Persona 5 OST – Regret

 

Viktor had to force himself to look away from those pleading brown eyes whose wishes he knew he could never refuse. He understood Katsuki Yuuri’s plea for him to stay with those eyes but he chose to turn away from him and with every step that took him away from his hospital ward roommate, Viktor could feel his heart ached along with the cries of anguish that echoed from the ward. He couldn’t understand why his tears flowed or why he stopped to turn back for a stranger. He wanted to go back to him. He wanted to be by his side.  He knew he was needed there.

 

“That is a moment for family only, Vitya,” Yakov said and put a hand on Viktor’s arm, “Come, we are running out of time. We need to get to the airport.”

 

Yakov’s hand on his arm felt like a shackle and his words were like chains that forced Viktor to only obey him at that moment. Viktor only needed the strength to take one step towards Yuuri to break away from binds, but instead he let himself be led away by the older man. He silently admitted to himself that he was not Katsuki Yuuri’s family, but his heart still harboured the subconscious desire to return to his side. His cerulean blue eyes never left the door as he walked down the corridor and only looked away when he turned a corner to step through a door that forever isolated those muffled cries from his ears.

 

Viktor was silent on the flight back to Russia. Yakov, however, was anxious.

 

His plan to separate Viktor from Katsuki Yuuri had been going well so far but neither he nor the doctor could predict when his memories could return. The doctor had explained that it was not uncommon for victims of horrific accidents to lose their memories from the psychological trauma, but he assured that the memories would return when the patient had overcome the stress. It could take days or weeks, according to the doctor, and triggers would help spark Viktor to recall details of the past that his brain had suppressed.

 

But it was never Yakov’s intention to help Viktor recall the existence of that Japanese skater, and he knew he could not keep Viktor in the dark for long. Before he could remember, Yakov wanted to hide as much evidence of their relationship as possible. That was the reason he sent Yuri Plisetsky back to Saint Petersburg first; to clear every piece of item belonging to Katsuki Yuuri from their apartment. He wanted to pull Viktor’s focus away from those missing years to focus on his next season. He needed his full attention on the gold medal. There was no time to waste on resting when the Russian Nationals was in less than two weeks’ time. He needed Viktor to get back on the ice as soon as possible, or he would lose his future.

 

Yakov carefully prodded Viktor’s memory of his past programs and managed to confirm that his clearest memories were the ones he skated for the 2015/16 Grand Prix Final, one of them being _Aria: Stammi Vicino, Non Te Ne Andare_. It will have to do. That program had led Viktor to the peak of his career to claim his fifth consecutive gold medals, but that very same program also made him drop everything for a fragile figure skater. To this day, Yakov still wondered why he had done it. He had known Viktor to be one who make spontaneous decisions, but to give up a five-gold-medals streak was not something anyone could lightly decide upon. And to get engaged to that very same Japanese figure skater was even more outrageous!

 

Despite what happened, Yakov could not deny that Katsuki Yuuri had changed Viktor Nikiforov in more ways than one, mostly for the better than worst. Viktor’s life revolved only around his figure skating career, and he never spared a thought for anything else in his youthful days. Even his relationships with others were superficial because he never socialized with others outside of practice sessions and competitions. He had never cared for anyone other than himself, until he began pursuing Katsuki Yuuri.

 

Since the night of the banquet at Sochi in 2015, Yakov had noticed that Viktor’s mind was plagued by the images of the drunken Japanese figure skater. He spent hours looking up information on Katsuki Yuuri on the Internet and his eyes were glued to his mobile phone, watching videos of him skating to the music. Yakov had initially thought that Viktor’s interest in that boy was purely professional, until Viktor saw that fateful viral video of Katsuki Yuuri skating to his own program. Then everything went downhill.  

 

When Viktor contacted him about leaving for Japan, Yakov became furious and he had hoped that idiotic Russian would come around after meeting Katsuki Yuuri; after being thoroughly disappointed in his lack of skills. Then he would be back in Russia just in time for the next season but instead Yakov was left waiting for far longer than he had anticipated. He woke up every day and cursed about how Viktor was being an irresponsible playboy for executing an elaborate plan to become a Japanese skater’s coach, an idea he took from the drunkard, to get closer to him.

 

When Yakov met his student-turned-coach again in China, he could see that Viktor was still his carefree self and by that extension, a lousy coach. He scoffed at how evident it was when Katsuki Yuuri was the one patting his coach on the head just before he skated off to begin his free skating program. Yakov had to admit that the Japanese skater had potential but that still did not explain the reason his capricious student had to kiss his protégé at the end of that program on live television. But when Viktor asked him to take his place as Katsuki Yuuri’s coach midway through the Rostelecom Cup in Moscow, Yakov began to see the telltale signs that Viktor was changing. By the time he met him again in Barcelona, Yakov could tell with certainty that Viktor was a changed man.

 

Being a figure skater himself, Viktor had no problem training and guiding Katsuki Yuuri on the ice, but he was clearly underequipped to deal with the younger skater’s mental health because Viktor himself was not an emotionally intelligent man and will never understand how his timid student was literally made up of anxiety. But Viktor learned to pay attention to him. He understood how much his presence mattered to Yuuri and how heavily his opinions could affect him. Within the year, Viktor had already begun to carry himself with the air of professionalism that every proud coach possessed.

 

While Yakov was secretly proud of Viktor’s growth as a coach, he also wanted him back on the ice as the living legend in the world of figure skating. Though Viktor eventually returned to the sport after a year, Yakov still held the opinion that he could have achieved much more if he had not dropped everything to hop onto the next flight to Japan for a Japanese drunkard. Even after moving back to Saint Petersburg, Viktor’s attention was always focused on Katsuki Yuuri during their trainings. Yakov noticed they were always careful with their flirting when in public but he could see that Viktor truly cared for that boy, and probably loved him more than he realized it himself.

 

Yakov hoped that Viktor would not be reminded of Katsuki Yuuri for at least the next three weeks until after the Russian Nationals, but panic swelled within him the moment he set foot into Viktor’s apartment. He remembered that he had told Yuri to remove everything that belonged to Katsuki Yuuri from the apartment before their return and that rascal certainly did as instructed. Yuri left everything that belonged to the BOTH of them in the apartment. He turned to look at Viktor beside him, whose expression was blank.

 

“Three years seems like a long time,” Viktor commented with a laugh, “Even my apartment looks different.”

 

Viktor would know if his apartment had changed, because he never bothered to spare a thought on redecorating the fully furnished apartment since the day he bought it and left most of the furniture untouched and unmoved after he moved in at age eighteen. He made the decision to move out of Yakov’s house despite knowing that he would almost always never be home and could only spend a few days to a few weeks in his own apartment at any one time throughout the year. But having a place all to himself and to call “home” was somehow reassuring and he liked the privacy to shed off all the masks he worn amongst expectant people outside.

 

His eyes darted across the room and at first glance, everything seemed exactly as he remembered it. But as the seconds ticked by, he noticed that the white, grey and blue colour palette of his home now had other colours splashed amongst them; a yellow sushi cushion on the navy blue couch; a set of red matryoshka dolls on a previously barren windowsill; and coloured notes left on the refrigerator. Those small differences were foreign to Viktor, but he felt like he was home.

 

Viktor removed his coat and hung it on the chair extension by the door. He was aware that Yakov was watching him like a hawk as he walked into his apartment to set aside his only belonging, the tote bag, by the couch. He was about to turn back to invite Yakov into the apartment when he noticed the familiar grey dog bowl at the corner of the kitchen, just beside the wooden table for two. His heart froze.

 

“Where’s Makkachin?” he asked Yakov, but he got an answer in the form of a bark and heard the weak patter of paws on the floor echoing from the corridor outside the apartment. Viktor smiled widely when the big brown poodle appeared at the door and he let Makkachin pounced on him, and licked him all over the face as he lay defenseless on the floor. “Hello, Makkachin! I’ve missed you too!” Viktor said between laughs as he scratched the old dog behind the ears.

 

“You’re back,” a voice said from the door. Viktor looked up and saw Yuri, who held up the blue leash in his hand and then set it on the chair by the door. Viktor nodded at him. Yuri continued, “I’ve fed him and took him for a walk, and cleaned up your place a little before that.”

 

“So that’s why you came back early!” Viktor recalled their conversation in the hospital.

 

“Y-yeah,” Yuri nodded and looked away in remorse.

 

“Thanks, Yuuri,” Viktor smiled. Yuri’s expression changed and he scowled at Viktor for calling him by that name again, but Viktor was still oblivious to Yuri’s anger.

 

“Vitya,” Yakov called for his attention, “Rest up for the day. The Russian Nationals is in less than two weeks, and the European Figure Skating Championships is in a month. I need you to begin your practice tomorrow.”

 

“Okay~!” Viktor replied, rubbing Makkachin’s belly.

 

“I’ll see you at the rink TOMORROW,” Yakov emphasized on the last word.

 

“Yes, Yakov,” Viktor stood up and repeated, “Tomorrow, at the rink.”

 

When the door to his apartment was closed, Viktor’s attention was back onto Makkachin again and he noticed the three years he had lost with his poodle. Makkachin’s snout had more white than he remembered and realized that his life span could expire any day. Viktor hugged him tightly for a moment before the poodle wiggled his way out of his arms to go back to the door and whined. His tail was wagging expectantly as if he was waiting for someone else to walk through the door. Makkachin turned back to Viktor.

 

“They’re gone,” Viktor told him, and he could barely hear the conversation between Yakov and Yuri in front of the elevator. His coach was being his usual angry self at his junior but Viktor stopped to eavesdrop when Yuri shouted.

 

“What!? I removed the photos on the fridge, didn’t I!? How am I supposed to know which is whose!?” Hearing that, Viktor headed towards his kitchen. There were unfamiliar but cute samurai magnets all over the refrigerator, some of the magnets pinned shopping lists and recipes to it, and others were randomly stuck to the refrigerator. The notes were insignificant to Viktor until he noticed that they were not his handwriting. He looked over at Makkachin, who was now staring at him. He playfully showed him a note and as if the dog understood that his human was asking about the person who wrote the notes; the poodle pattered away to fetch his blue poodle plush and placed it by Viktor’s foot.

 

“Who gave you that?” Viktor asked as he put away the note in his hand. He did not remember buying that plush and Makkachin cocked his head to the side at the question, and put a paw on the plush. He barked as his answer.

 

“If only I can understand you, Makkachin,” Viktor sighed and crouched in front of the poodle to give him more rubs on the head. The poodle’s pants turned into delighted whimpers as Viktor continued to indulge his pet dog’s requests for attention without realizing that the sun had begun to set. When he lifted his head to look around the apartment, he thought the darkness seemed to amplify a vague emptiness in the apartment, and a strange feeling squeezed in his chest. He was home, but Viktor couldn’t shake away this feeling in his heart that something was missing.

 

Makkachin whined when Viktor stood up to walk towards the door where he kicked off his shoes and socks. He had not felt before as he was having fun with Makkachin but now that he saw the soft white bed in his bedroom inviting him to sleep, Viktor began to feel the fatigue from the flight home coursed through his body. He decided to forgo bath and dinner as he stepped barefooted into the bedroom, and carelessly discarded his clothes onto floor before he crashed naked onto the bed with a satisfied sigh as he pulled the duvet over himself and drifted off to sleep almost immediately with Makkachin’s familiar warmth by his feet.  

 

 _“Good night, Vitka,”_ Viktor heard a distant voice whispered in his head, and he hummed in response.

 

Viktor woke up just after dawn and mindlessly put on his boxer and shirt from last night, and walked out to set the coffee machine to brew his daily dose. He brought out the mugs from a drawer and as he waited, the waft of coffee gradually filled the tiny apartment, slowly waking him from his sleepiness. Viktor began to wonder if he could retrieve his luggage bag from the train crash, and he ran over the various ways to retrieve it in his mind; who to contact and where. He even imagined what he would find inside; clothes and new costume. Viktor suddenly became aware that Yakov had not spoken about his programs for the last three years and he mentally made a note to ask his coach at the rink later.  

 

The first mug of coffee was ready and Viktor set it aside to put the second mug in place. Then he dropped two cubes of sugar into the first mug with a smile, gave it a stir with the teaspoon and turned to pass the hot mug of coffee to – no one. Viktor stared at the empty space before him and his grip on the mug tightened as he realized that a name was at the tip of his tongue but he couldn’t say it. Viktor placed the mug back onto the counter and realized for the first time that it was foreign yet familiar. It was a custom printed mug of his _Stammi Vicino_ costume in shades of blue. He turned to look at the other mug and noticed that it also featured the exact design but in shades of pink.

 

 _“Who was I making coffee for?”_ Viktor found himself asking when he realized that the mugs were clearly a pair.

 

His mind went into overdrive and he frantically opened all the drawers in his kitchen. His usual eating utensils were kept away in the deeper parts of the drawers and in their place was a new set of plates and utensils for two persons, including two sets of chopsticks. There were new cooking pots in the drawers and he realized a moment later that there was also a small rice cooker on the counter; he rarely had rice. Viktor strode into the bedroom to identify items that were not his, but he saw nothing out of the ordinary in there. He ran over to his closet and threw the doors open. He gasped when he saw that half of his closet was clearly emptied out, a definite sign that he had shared his apartment with someone who was now missing from his memory.

 

 _“Who was I living with? Where is…?”_ Viktor fell to his knees, finally realizing the great emptiness that was eating at his heart. His hand reached up to cover his mouth and stifled his cries. He didn’t know why or for whom he was crying for, but Viktor felt his heart clenched and it hurt so much to even breathe. He sat on the floor weeping until Makkachin licked his face. He hugged the poodle, “Makkachin, do you know who it is?”

 

Makkachin fetched the same blue poodle plush from his bed, and Viktor noted that the grey doggy cushion had been removed from the bedroom to the living space, by the television. His attention was drawn away when his poodle whined and pawed at the plush on his lap.

 

“Was this a gift from that person?” Viktor asked, and Makkachin barked in response and wagged his tail.

 

Viktor looked down at the platinum ring on his finger. He could feel that he was very much in love with the person as he clasped his hand over his heart, and fresh tears streamed down his cheeks again when he looked up at the closet. He began to suspect that his lover left this obvious emptiness for him to find when he returned home from the Grand Prix Final, and such blatant emptiness could only mean one thing.

 

“Was I abandoned, Makkachin?” Viktor asked his poodle, “When did that person leave?” His dog only cocked his head to the side and whined.

 

Viktor wondered if his infrequent time at home was at fault, or if his ambition to be the top figure skater in the world drove his lover away from him. His heart squeezed and there was an onslaught of pinpricks in his brain as he tried to remember, so he resorted to imagine what his life was like before he lost his memories.

 

 _“Did I look forward to coming home? Did my lover greet me with a kiss? Did we cook together? Did we go shopping together? Did we go on dates? Did we take photos together?”_ Viktor’s thoughts were disrupted by the sound of his apartment door opening, _“Photos.”_

 

Yuri froze at the door in his black winter coat and leopard-print backpack when he saw Viktor sitting on the floor at the other end of the apartment. He pretended to not notice Viktor’s tear-stained face as he closed the door behind him to keep December’s winter chill out. His green eyes saw the two mugs on the counter and the half empty closet he had cleared the day before.

 

“Yo,” Yuri tried to sound nonchalant, “I thought you’re still asleep. Yakov sent me to pick you up. He said he didn’t want you to be late for practice. ‘said you might oversleep or forgot the way to the rink.” But Viktor only stared at the younger man as he recalled what he overheard yesterday. He got up to his feet and made his way to Yuri, like a zombie.

 

“The photos,” Viktor whispered and grabbed the younger man by the shoulders. He took a breath and asked, “Where are the photos?”

 

“Did you remember?” the teen asked curiously. Viktor shook his head and his grip squeezed tighter as he held back fresh tears. Yuri had seen Viktor when he was depressed but he had never seen him this broken; eyes red from crying, and breaths ragged from sobbing. His cerulean blue eyes locked with Yuri’s green eyes, begging for the truth that he swore he would not tell until Viktor remembered it himself.

 

“Who lived here with me?” Viktor asked.

 

“Viktor,” Yuri clenched his fist and prepared himself to betray his senior. He avoided meeting those pleading blue eyes and he muttered, “He… moved on.”

 

“He?” Viktor repeated, “Who is he? What is his name? Yuuri! Tell me!”

 

 _“You’ve been calling it all along!”_ Yuri shouted in his mind but he steeled himself. He freed himself from Viktor’s grip and said, “It doesn’t matter now, does it? He moved on. And you are better off forgetting him.”

 

“…why?” Viktor could only mutter weakly. He didn’t even know what answers he was seeking. Why wouldn’t Yuri tell him his lover’s identity? Why couldn’t he remember his lover? Why did his lover leave? Why was it better that he forgets? Why? Why!!

 

“Look at you!” Yuri snapped and Viktor took half a step backwards in shock, “You barely look like the hero of Russia anymore! You spent your whole fucking life building your career to reign as the world champion, with new world records every season! And now just because he left you, you’re reduced to this… fucking loser!”

 

“No,” Viktor stared in disbelief at Yuri, “You don’t understand.” Viktor admitted to himself then that he had never felt this helpless in all his life, not even when he lost the inspiration to skate. Every time, he managed to pick himself up again from the depression of self-unworthiness and he renewed his vigor in every season until he nabbed his fifth consecutive gold medal at the Grand Prix Final in Sochi. But now, he could not see the light in the darkness of this despair that he could not understand.

 

“I just wanted to know,” Viktor said softly and then thought, _“I need to know.”_

 

“Tch!” Yuri clicked his tongue, “Why would you want to know about that pig? Just forget about him and get on with your life already!” His senior was silent in his protest and Yuri knew he needed to distract Viktor’s mind off the topic of his lover before he ask any more questions that Yuri could not avoid answering. So he taunted the champion, “The Russian Nationals is in two weeks and if you’re going to mope around, I’m taking the gold medal!”  

 

Viktor was still silent, but a fire was lit in his eyes at the mention of the gold medal. Yuri rudely pushed past his elder towards the closet to grab a grey t-shirt at the top of the neatly folded pile of clothes. He threw it at Viktor and said, “Just get changed for practice!”

 

Viktor disappeared into the bathroom without a word. Yuri lounged on the couch and flipped through the channels on the television for a moment before realizing that Makkachin was missing when his hand reached out to pat the empty spot beside him. That poodle loved company and would never pass up the chance to cuddle up with anyone unless he was scared. He stood up and looked around the apartment, and didn’t see a spot of brown fur. Yuri walked into the bedroom and found Makkachin hiding at the far end corner of the room, behind the bed. His puffy tail wagged in fear when Yuri cautiously stepped closer to him.

 

“Hey, Makka,” Yuri called gently and Makkachin whined softly in response, “I must have frightened you when I shouted.” He sat in front of the poodle and reached out to softly pat the brown head, “I’m sorry I said all those things about Yuuri. I didn’t want to, but I had to.” Yuri tried to justify his words but it didn’t lessen the guilt weighing on his heart. Makkachin lifted his head to rest on his human friend’s lap. “If Viktor does not get the gold medal in the Russian National, his future will fall apart,” Yuri whispered softly in his ears, “Their future will fall apart.”

 

“Do you think they’d forgive me when they remember?” Yuri asked Makkachin, and he continued to pat the poodle, as if he was also consoling himself at the same time. He didn’t realize how much time had passed until he heard his name being called. HIS name.

 

“Yuri?” Yuri turned towards the door and Viktor appeared in his casual polo t-shirt and jeans, “There you are! I thought you’ve gone off without me.” Yuri stared at the fake smile plastered on Viktor’s face, the same smile that Viktor had worn through all the hardships in his life before Katsuki Yuuri appeared.  

 

 _“Why?”_ Yuri asked himself, and he felt his heart dropped at the dismay that his own words had found its way into his senior’s consciousness, _“Viktor, I’m so sorry.”_

 

“I’ve left the food out for Makkachin, and refilled his water,” Viktor put a finger on his lips as he went through a to-do list in his head, “And packed my bag. Scarf and coat are by the door. Everything’s cleared away in the kitchen. I’m good to go. Shall we?”

 

Yuri picked up his backpack as he silently followed Viktor out of the apartment. Once outside, Viktor stopped to put on his gloves and Yuri held back the tears in his eyes when he accidentally laid eyes on his senior’s bare hands. “You took off the ring?” he commented more than asked. A ghost of a smile appeared on Viktor when he turned back to face him.

 

“You’re right, Yuri,” Viktor admitted, “I should move on too. And the ring should go; otherwise it will be a constant reminder of a past that I should not try to remember.” Yuri could only nod to hide his teary eyes while Viktor drew a deep breath and sighed out loud, as if a great burden was lifted off his chest.

 

“Why was I interested in another person anyway?” he laughed as he walked ahead of Yuri, “I can’t imagine devoting myself to anything other than my skating!” The teenager trailed behind Viktor with his head hung low and he didn’t pay attention to a word Viktor rambled on, “Oh, I need a new phone too! The one I had on me seemed like a goner.”

 

The short walk felt longer than it was supposed to be as Yuri concentrated on holding back his tears behind his sunglasses on their walk towards the ice skating rink. He tried not to sniffle because he didn’t want Viktor to turn back to ask him about it. He didn’t want to let Viktor hear how his voice would break.

 

“VIKTOR! YOU’RE LATE!” Yakov shouted as soon as the two of them stepped into the locker area. He noticed the younger skater’s slumped shoulders but he shifted his attention to the unbelievably high spirited Viktor.

 

“Yakov~!” Viktor waved to him, “Good morning! It’s rather cold outside today!”

 

“Get your ass on the ice right now!” Yakov shouted back at him. Viktor laughed as he walked away to change into his training outfit and put on his skates. Yuri still hid behind his sunglasses when he walked past his coach’s grim face, and headed directly into the men’s toilet. He needed to wash off all traces of tears on his face before he could start his training.

 

Yakov showed Viktor the video of his _Aria: Stammi Vicino_ program and promptly took his mobile phone back even though his student showed no inclination of wanting to click on the next video, of a figure skater named Katsuki Yuuri. Viktor’s focus was so intense that when he glided to the middle of the rink next, he perfectly recreated the program. The old coach breathed a sigh of relief at the Russian champion’s performance but he quickly called out to him to make adjustments to his jumps and spins to close the three-year gap of rapidly-advancing figure skating level.

 

“Are you satisfied now?” Yuri seethed from the bench beyond the ice as he watched Viktor almost flopped his second quadruple flip. Yakov scoffed to brush that remark away but Yuri warned him, “He will find out about Katsuki Yuuri sooner or later.”

 

“When that happens,” Yakov’s eyes held firm, “Tell Viktor that he was just a student.”

 

Soon after practice and dinner, Viktor was walking Makkachin on a leash with his other hand in the pocket of his trench coat, gripping his new mobile phone. He only managed to recover his mobile phone number and sought the technician’s help to re-download the apps he might have previously used. Viktor felt his heart skipped a beat with hope at the realization that he might have stored his photos and other files on cloud storage, but that little glimmer of light faded away as soon as it appeared when he was unable to access it. The password to his past was forgotten yet retrievable, but Viktor somehow resigned to leave the past alone, and moved on.

 

But he still find it hard to dispose of his ruined mobile phone, so he took it home with him and set it at the far end of the low table in the bedroom, where it will be out of sight most of the time until he decided to get rid of it. Viktor looked around his bedroom for the second time since his return and noticed the small changes to it that made the room felt different from the bedroom he remembered. There were a few gaming magazines in English and a heavily worn textbook on the Russian language on the nightstand by the left side of the bed. Viktor smiled at the idea that his lover was not Russian and made a huge effort to live here with him but he quickly shoved the thought away.

 

 _“I should not dwell on him,”_ Viktor told himself as he walked into the bathroom. But his lover haunted him again when he saw the ring he had removed this morning on the sink. He held the ring in his hand and as the temptation to slip it back into his fourth finger began to stir within him, Viktor quickly took it back into the bedroom and left it on top of the Russian textbook. He stepped back from the bed, breathing heavily from the short run and as he stole a glance at the bed, he thought he saw the slender figure of a man lying on it but he could not see his face.

 

 _“Vi…!”_ Viktor could hear his lover whispered his name and moaned in the back of his mind even as thousands of needles assaulted his brain. He stumbled his way out of the bedroom and slammed the door shut, as if he was trying to contain whatever memory that was coming back to him within the bedroom. And it worked. The hallucinations in his mind and pain in his head stopped, but Viktor felt his heart died a little more, and he curled into himself on the floor, and sobbed.

 

Viktor could not sleep that night. He laid himself on the couch, with his back facing the window because limiting his field of vision to the bare cushion gave his mind peace from finding traces of his missing lover all over his apartment. He was beginning to feel uncomfortable in his own home, and it did not take long for Viktor to come to a solution to his dilemma: to move out of the apartment, immediately.

 

He sprang from the couch and began throwing everything he needed into his travel bag. He remembered himself to be a wreck at packing but this time, he was ready within half an hour. He whistled for the clueless Makkachin and they headed to the nearest hotel in the middle of a winter’s night.

 

“You are staying in a hotel!?” Yuri raised his voice loud enough for everyone on the rink to hear after Viktor explained his sleep-deprived look, “What are you thinking!?”

 

“I’m thinking of my career,” Viktor admitted, “I need to get away from my memories and this way, I can concentrate on my trainings better. After the Russian Nationals is the European Championship, which is next month, and then the Worlds two months after, and then the Grand Prix Final; I can’t let anything get to me at this critical time, Yuri.”

 

And nothing did.

 

Viktor put on the best mask he had always mustered and returned to his ambitious self. He set his eyes on the gold medals in front of him and his desire to reclaim his spot at the top of the world burned strong when he found out from a conversation with Yakov at the rink that he was not the victor at the previous Grand Prix Final; it was a Japanese figure skater named Katsuki Yuuri.

 

“Katsuki Yuuri,” Viktor repeated and thought deeply, “That name is familiar.”

 

“He was that man from the hospital,” Yakov told him a fact he could not hide from Viktor, but before he could say anything else, Yakov continued, “Apparently he was on the same train, and was coincidentally placed in the same ward as you.”

 

Viktor did not say anything as he recalled his rival’s face. He had studied the man’s face when he was unconscious and wrapped in bandages, and now he wondered how Katsuki Yuuri would appear if he looked back at him with all the brightness of the sun in his smile. He thought he could almost picture it in his mind, as if he knew the man.

 

“He was your student,” Yuri interrupted them, and Yakov glared at him for that deliberate input. He knew Yuri wanted to help Viktor remember the past and he had been subtly doing it since their return from France.

 

“Student? I was his coach?” Viktor asked in disbelief, “Why would I coach anyone?”

 

“I should like to know that myself!” Yakov answered angrily before Yuri could answer. He gave a clap and shoved the two skaters back into the rink, “Enough talking. Go practice! Russian National is in less than a week!”

 

The Russian National in Yekaterinburg began on December 25th, a birth date that meant no significance to Viktor Nikiforov, who executed a perfect short program that at first silenced the stadium before the audience erupted in clamors. He went on to effortlessly claim the gold medal like the living legend that he had always been. He feigned to long for a lover in his programs and his mock emotions won him a national gold medal. Viktor thought he had never felt more dishonest with himself since the train crash, but the cheers drowned out whatever thoughts he had and his brain came up with an idea to turn his mock emotions into reality. So he invited willing fans into his bed, both men and women alike, while he stayed in a hotel during the competition.

 

His brain must have been convinced that doing so could overwrite the recurring lustful dreams with the same man, whose face still eluded him. And that same dream always ended as a nightmare, with himself standing over the man’s lifeless body, and seeing the blood on his own hands. Viktor thought these strangers could help him forget those nightmares but all he felt was guilt that festered within his heart with every smile he flashed at a fan as he led them into his room. But before neither of them could get undressed, Viktor would send them home and spent the night alone in silent reflection. He never wanted to decipher the guilt because he wanted to believe that he was merely taking advantage of his fans, and not because of his loyalty to a lover who had abandoned him.

  

His actions, however, did not escape the paparazzi’s watchful eyes and his scandals made headlines. Yakov was severely disappointed in Viktor and reprimanded him on his actions but all the national skater could think of as he stared at the magazine in his hand was his lover. The mask he put on chipped and he wondered if his lover was reading this article somewhere in the world. How would he react to it? Would he be disgusted by the scandals? Would he laugh knowing he made the right decision to leave him?

 

Viktor knew he needed to let go of his lover, and he made the effort to. After the Russian National, Viktor rented a new apartment not far from his home rink – but too close to his old apartment – in his attempt to start fresh. He had already listed his apartment up for sale and he was immediately swarmed by offers for it, but he was reluctant to accept any offers and procrastinated on the sale. Every day, as he walked past the apartment building on his way to the rink, he would be tempted him to look up at his apartment window and his heart would whisper a silent plea to his lover, _“Come back to me.”_  

 

He hated how he was holding onto a lover he could not remember whenever he was off the ice. He knew he could Google for the answer that everyone was keeping from him, and he almost did before deciding against it after typing his own name into the search bar. He wanted to believe that he was sparing himself from more heartache by not learning the truth. Perhaps they had a horrible breakup? Perhaps it was not his fault? Perhaps it was his lover who found another? Perhaps it was better that they stay apart?

 

Viktor considered putting even more distance between himself and the telltale signs of his lover, and he contemplated on moving his home rink to elsewhere. He even toyed with the idea of retiring to the countryside because he knew that his time in the sport was drawing near to an end ever since he woke up as a 30-year-old man at a hospital. Even if he could keep his body at the best condition, he could not deny that the quality of his jumps was slowly diminishing with every jump that he landed. He knew he would one day fail a jump and before he could fall from grace, he should retire as a legend.

 

Those thoughts continued to plague Viktor’s mind as he walked Makkachin on the morning of his rest day. It was a sunny day in January and the streets were not overly crowded with local shoppers and tourists. Both of them wandered aimlessly around the blocks, occasionally stopping at a pet-friendly café for a snack before they continued wandering the area again. The poodle stopped to sniff at the air and he pulled Viktor down a road that led towards their old apartment. Viktor gently tugged on the leash to lead Makkachin away, but the brown poodle stood firm. He sighed, and thought that maybe his poodle wanted to go to the park beyond his apartment, but he was wrong.

 

Makkachin stopped in front of the gates to the apartment building and he scratched at it, and then barked at the security guard, who stood up from his station to smile warmly at them. Viktor smiled back at him and wondered if anyone knew that the person beneath that menacing look and threateningly large and muscular body was one of the kindest young men anyone could have the privilege of knowing. He could almost recall how terrifyingly loud and powerful that security guard had been when he blocked a group of journalists from entering into the apartment’s compound. At that time, Viktor remembered he had an arm around–

 

“Hello there, Mr. Nikiforov! Come to get your letters?” the guard greeted Viktor, “Your letter box is overflowing with fan mails since you listed your apartment up for sale!” He paused for a while and hesitantly asked, “If you don’t mind me asking, what happened to your partner?”

 

“He,” Viktor didn’t know the answer but he gave him the only answer he knew, “We separated.”

 

“Ah, sorry to bring that up,” he said apologetically. Viktor smiled again in return to hide his own insecurity. It was beginning to get awkward and he was glad the guard opened the gates, “Well, you’d best get inside. The weather was great this morning but the weather forecast says it will be cold in the afternoon. Climate change is making the weather funny these days.”

 

“Thank you,” Viktor nodded and walked past the security station, “Have a good day.”

 

Makkachin seemed restless as he waited in front of the row letterboxes for Viktor, who was trying to stuff as much letters as he could into the pockets of his coat. He managed to haphazardly hold onto a large stack of letters in one hand while he pressed for the elevator with the other. As he stood in front of the door to his apartment, Viktor was not about to question himself for looping his new apartment’s key with his old one, but he was glad he did, for now.

 

His happy poodle immediately bounded off to his grey cushion and made himself comfortable while Viktor dumped the letters onto the coffee table before turning on the heating system. It took a while for the apartment to warm up and by then Viktor had already filled Makkachin’s bowl with water and food, and made himself coffee. When he opened the drawer for a mug, frustration and anger boiled within him when he saw the paired mugs, but he intentionally ignored those feelings as he reached deeper into the drawer for his usual plain white mug. Shutting the drawer seemed to also shut out those ugly feelings in his heart and he walked away to busy himself with fan letters.

 

Viktor took a sip of his coffee and noticed one white rectangular envelope that stood out amongst the other colourful ones. He picked it out and read its content. It was not a fan letter. It was an official letter from a voluntary organization that was in charge of returning items from crash sites to their owners. Viktor had completely forgotten about his luggage bag when he moved out of the apartment and now the answer he sought was waiting for him. He immediately dialed the number on the letter and made an arrangement with the man on the other side of the line for his luggage bags to be delivered later that afternoon.

 

 _“Luggage bags,”_ Viktor repeated to himself after the call ended. He sighed realizing he still had the habit of packing everything with him when he travelled. He looked down at the letter in his hand and noticed the date; that letter had been lying in his letter box for more than a month. Fear suddenly gripped him as his brain went into overdrive again.

 

 _“What if there were more than just my belongings?”_ his brain suggested, _“I was on a train for Paris. I couldn’t have gone alone! Was I with someone? Him? Are his items in those luggage bags?”_

 

 _“No,”_ Viktor talked to himself, _“Calm down. He left me while I was at the Grand Prix Final.”_   But his brain was being uncooperative as it reminded him of the things he did not recognize, _“Those mugs. Those magazines. That Russian textbook.”_

Viktor grew agitated with every passing second as he argued with his brain on the truth; the truth that he was told versus the evidence of truth that his brain was trying to make him see. He tried to see, but to believe in the puzzle pieces laid bare before him would contradict with the truth that Yakov and Yuri told him. And they would never lie to him. Nor would his own brain. Viktor grasped his hair tightly in a fist and screamed in frustration that he could not decide who to believe.

 

Makkachin helplessly watched as his owner broke down and he turned back to his bed to search for something to help Viktor. He found his favourite blue poodle plush and brought it over to him. He whined for attention and Viktor looked down to stare at the plush between Makkachin’s jaws. But something else snapped within him.

 

“NO!” Viktor shouted at Makkachin, “NOT YOU TOO! I DIDN’T BUY YOU THIS! WHY ARE YOU ON HIS SIDE!?” He snatched the plush from Makkachin. The poodle barked and retreated into the bathroom with his tail tucked between his legs. He cowered at the corner of the bathroom between the wall and the bathtub as Viktor made a mess of the apartment.

 

Viktor threw the plush to the far end of the apartment with all the anger he had in him. It lay unbroken on the floor, as if it was mocking Viktor for being the broken one. His anger flared and he swept the letters off the table with a scream, then he found a grip on the table and flipped it. His mug of coffee flew onto the floor and broke into pieces, scattering dark droplets all over the letters. He stomped over to his kitchen and swiped everything off his refrigerator. He tore the recipe and notes into pieces and dumped them onto the floor before he moved onto the drawers. He raised the _Stammi Vicino_ mugs and forcefully smashed them onto the floor. He didn’t care that the splinters cut at his feet. He wanted everything gone. He wanted _him_ gone.

 

But there were more. Viktor opened the bedroom door with a violent swing and overturned everything in sight; the bed, the nightstand, the magazines, the textbook, everything. He needed to get rid of the image of himself making sweet gentle love to the naked body of his lover from his head. As he threw everything to the floor and walls, a clear ringing echoed in his ear and he instinctively turned towards the sound. A platinum ring rolled on the floor and then sat glinting back at him. Viktor ran over to it and grasped it in his hand; and with his other hand, he opened the nearest window.

 

A sudden gust of cold winter breeze hit him hard and Viktor stood frozen by the window. It took seconds for him to regain his breathing again and by then his mind had calmed. He looked down at his tightly closed fist, his skin was pale to the point of turning pink from the grasp. He exhaled and relaxed his grip, and the ring shined innocently pure in the afternoon sun. Viktor turned to look behind him, at the mess he made, and decided that it was over. He decided to truly let go. He needed to truly let _him_ go.

 

 _“This is the last piece,”_ Viktor said to himself as he closed his fingers around the ring for the last time, _“This ring needs to go, before I go mad from this longing.”_

Viktor looked outside the window as he raised his arm and pulled it behind him. He only had to fling the ring out of the window and he would be free again. He would be free to fall hopelessly in love with _another_ as they danced; free to drop his career for _another_ if that could bring them closer; and free to choose a life with _another_ and take on the world to make endless memories together. Viktor laughed as tears silently ran down his cheeks. He wondered how his brain could conjure up such fantasies when he would never deserve such a beautiful love life. He felt his arm grow heavy with reluctance the longer he hesitated.

 

“I’m sorry,” he said to his ring, “I have to.” He pulled his arm back again and swung hard. But the ring was still safe in his grasp. _“Why?”_ Viktor fell to his knees, clutching the ring to his heart, _“Why can’t I let you go?”_

 

And he let his heart cry for the one he lost, _“Come back to me.”_

 

Viktor sat for hours on the bedroom floor with his back to the bed, and his blue eyes stared out of the open window. His handsome face was a mess of tears but Viktor didn’t care how horrible he looked at that moment as his mind drifted back and forth with his heart in his hand. He did not even realize Makkachin had been lying beside him until he whined for attention. Viktor instinctively reached out towards the poodle but he stopped himself. He was afraid that he might be rejected by Makkachin for his earlier actions, but the brown pup lifted his head up to meet Viktor’s hands.

 

“I’m sorry, Makkachin,” he said as he looked into his poodle’s forgiving eyes, and gently patted the soft head, “I’m sorry I lost my temper.” Makkachin sat up to lick Viktor’s face, who smiled a little in return and asked, “Do you miss him? Because I do, very much.”

 

That was the moment Viktor resolved to learn the truth, no matter the consequence. And then his doorbell rang.

 

Viktor had completely forgotten that his luggage bags would be arriving and he knew he must have looked his worst but he had no intention to put on a mask. He wiped his face on his grey sweater’s long sleeves and walked out the bedroom, the ring still firmly in his grasp. He opened the door.

 

“Hello! I was the one on the phone with-” the cheerful young male volunteer in front of him trailed off, “Um, is this a bad time?” Viktor looked back at the mess he made in the living space and shook his head.

 

“I was…” he didn’t care that he was lying through his teeth, “… reorganizing.”  

 

“Right, well,” the volunteer cleared his throat and tried to get to business. He stepped aside and said, “Here are your items. Two grey luggage bags of the same size, and a backpack. The outside is damaged but the inside should remain intact. I can’t say the same for the backpack, unfortunately.”

 

“It’s alright,” Viktor forced a smile at the young man as he helped move the three items into the apartment. He asked out of curiosity, “How did you know they were mine?”

 

“There were luggage tags on them, with names and address,” he answered and took out his tablet and its accompanying stylus pen. He gave the tablet a few taps here and there before passing it over to Viktor, “Please fill in your details here and sign there for acknowledgement.” Viktor took the tablet with one hand, and reluctantly let the ring slip into the pocket of his pants so he could use his dominant hand to write.

 

“Thank you, Mr. Nikiforov,” he addressed Viktor by the name he had input into the tablet, “That will be all.” But the man stood facing Viktor in that apartment, he hesitated before he brought up a topic, “To be honest, we have already received numerous claim reports and delivered most of the items recovered from the crash site. But there is one item we have recovered from the carriage you were in that no one has come forth to claim.”

 

“Don’t you donate unclaimed items away?” Viktor asked innocently.

 

“Yes, that would usually be the procedure,” the man replied, “But we wanted to try locating its owner because we believe that this item has immense sentimental value.” He dug into the pocket of his jacket and took out a blue mini gift pouch. He poured out its content and held it up to Viktor, “Do you recognize this ring?”

 

It was a platinum ring, with a pair of ice-skates imprinted on the inside. It was the exact same ring as the one Viktor almost flung out of his life hours ago. He took out his ring from his pocket and showed it to the volunteer, who smiled genuinely at him when tears began to run down Viktor’s face. There was no need for answer.

 

“That’s a relief,” the volunteer said, “I’m glad we managed to return it.”

 

“Thank you,” Viktor choked on his sobs as he accepted the ring with shaky hands, “Thank you.”

 

“I’d best be on my way now,” the young man said, “Have good day, Mr. Nikiforov.” Viktor thanked him again as he closed the door, and then leaned against it. He continued to stare at the two rings on the palm of his hand, and this time his vision blurred with tears of happiness.

 

 _“He was with me,”_ Viktor smiled to himself, _“We were going to Paris together.”_ Then his heart stopped when the foolishly rational part of him asked, _“Then where is he?”_

 

His legs gave out and Viktor slid down the door to sit on the floor. He recalled the grim faces that appeared on Yakov and Yuri whenever they came close to the topics of the past he had forgotten. He never asked why they chose to avoid those topics but now he realized that they were actively trying to erase a lover he had forgotten. And he knew they couldn’t have done it with an evil intent unless the truth was much more unbearable than he thought. Viktor’s heart clenched as he clasped a hand over his mouth and his breath quickened with despair, _“Did he die?”_

 

“Makkachin,” he called breathlessly to his poodle, “I think… he’s never coming back.”

 

The poodle did not listen to him and he pattered away to sniffed at the luggage bags. Then he turned to bark at Viktor, who stared lifelessly back at him. He barked louder and scratched impatiently at the luggage bags. When his human did not respond, the poodle stopped in front of him and whined in frustration before he forcefully tugged on his grey sleeve, causing the rings in Viktor’s hand to fall onto the floor. Life immediately sprang back into Viktor as he snatched them up again protectively. Makkachin barked at him again with his tail wagging this time.

 

“Makkachin,” he called out to his poodle.

 

But the pooch returned to scratch at one of the grey luggage bags again. Viktor relented and stood up on his weakened legs. But first, he needed a safe place for the rings. He looked around his apartment and there was almost no space that was safe from the mess, and these rings deserved a better place than the bathroom. He stepped back into the bedroom and picked up the Russian textbook on his way towards the open window. He shut the window and placed the textbook on the windowsill. Viktor kissed his fist before resting the two rings safely on the textbook. He let his eyes linger on the rings for a while longer before he turned away.

 

If it could, Viktor thought his broken heart healed a little, even in despair.

 

He sat by the luggage bag Makkachin picked out and stared at the combination lock. He decided to skip the lock and grabbed a pen, then forced the luggage zipper open. He took a deep breath before he heaved the luggage bag open to reveal its glittering content. He recognized his two costumes for the 2018/19 Grand Prix Final from the videos Yakov showed him. There were also two other costumes inside the luggage bag that were clearly not his, but Viktor recognized one of the two from a brief glimpse of a video’s preview still; that glittering black costume that faded into blue and then white was worn by the current Grand Prix Final gold medalist, Katsuki Yuuri, who was both his student and the unconscious stranger at the hospital.

 

“Yuuri?” his voice called out the name. Makkachin barked and panted with his tail wagging enthusiastically, as if he was trying to confirm Viktor’s suspicion.

 

Viktor turned to grab the black backpack that he knew did not belong to him. He flipped the cute samurai luggage tag, and the name “Katsuki Yuuri” was written down along with Viktor’s apartment address on the card. It struck him then that the handwriting was familiar and his eyes looked up at the refrigerator, where a handwritten recipe was once pinned up by a samurai magnet.

 

He got up and carefully treaded towards kitchen with his eyes trained towards the floor. He saw a torn piece of paper on the floor, among the splinters of the broken mugs and plates. Regret welled up in him when his gaze fell on the coloured pieces of the mugs and he wished he could turn back time. He wished he had not succumbed to his resentment and destroyed all their mementos, but beyond this regret, he wished he could remember Katsuki Yuuri.

 

 _“Well, I tried but since I can’t remember this man, he’s probably nobody important!”_ he remembered how casually he had spoken about the unconscious Yuuri at the hospital. “You idiot,” he scolded himself, “He is supposed to be my most important person.”

 

All Viktor could think of as he gingerly picked up the pieces of the mugs, as well as the torn recipe and notes, was of an alternate reality where they were not in the train crash; if they had stayed another day in Barcelona; if they had missed the train; if they had taken a flight to Paris. They would no doubt still be together, and their rings were proof that they gave each other their “forever”.

 

 _“Would I wake up beside him today?”_ Viktor’s mind asked and his vision blurred again, _“Would we be drinking coffee from these mugs at this very moment?”_

 

Fantasies of a happier life filled his mind as he cleared the shattered mess in the kitchen and the living space. He pushed the fan letters to a corner but decided to leave the mess in the bedroom for later. Viktor knew he was delaying the inevitable confirmation of the truth he already knew, but he also didn’t want Makkachin to hurt his paws, even though he did not mind the cuts on his own feet.

 

He sat down by the luggage bags and backpack again, with a box of band aids and a torn piece of recipe with the most alphabets on it. He decided to procrastinate again and tended to his washed cuts, and put more than enough strips of band aid on his feet. When there were no more cuts left to tend to, Viktor took up the recipe and the luggage tag to compare, and his hands shook when he found the handwriting to be identical. He thought he had ample time to prepare himself for this reveal during the cleanup but his heart still squeezed in his chest at the confirmation that Katsuki Yuuri was his lover. He looked around his apartment and felt the gnawing emptiness in it again.

 

“Photos,” Viktor muttered because he knew there were more mementos in this home he had shared with Yuuri. He looked to his coat hanging by the door, “Yuri has them.” His hands scrambled for the mobile phone in the pocket of his coat. He brushed his tears away and sniffled as he dialed for the younger skater.

 

“What do you want, Viktor?” Yuri grumpily answered the call.

 

“Photos,” Viktor answered, his voice was hoarse, “All of them. Everything you took from my apartment. I want them all back.”

 

“Viktor?” Yuri was worried at the change in his senior’s voice, “Did you remember?”

 

“It was Katsuki Yuuri, wasn’t it?” Viktor was not even trying to hold a conversation fluently.

 

“You remembered?” Yuri sounded hopeful, and he smiled.

 

Viktor’s hand gripped that foreign black costume in his hand and said with a broke voice, “Our luggage from the crash came back. His ring came back… but he didn’t come back.”

 

“I’ll be there in an hour,” was all Yuri said before he hung up, leaving Viktor to listen to the tone beeping in his ear.

 

“Come back to me,” Viktor begged softly as he looked at his mobile phone. He wanted to dial a number and almost crushed the mobile phone in his hand when he realized that he couldn’t even remember Yuuri’s contact number. He had lost it along with his ruined mobile phone but Viktor knew the number was somewhere in his brain, if only he could unlock it. He thought hard but all his brain did was to replay his most recent memories going back to the day he left the hospital, and realization hit him. His fingers dialed for Yakov instead.

 

“You took me away from him,” Viktor said as soon as Yakov answered the call, “He was crying for me, Yakov! …and he isn’t coming back because I LEFT him there!”

 

“Vitya, what are you talking about?” Yakov was stunned.  

 

“You said we were on the same train,” Viktor recalled his coach’s words, “But you didn’t say we were on it TOGETHER.” Yakov sighed in defeat over the phone when he finally realized that Viktor was talking about his relationship with Katsuki Yuuri, the very last thing he had hoped he would not need to deal with at this moment.

 

“He doesn’t remember you anymore, Vitya,” Yakov explained, “And he has no future in competitive skating but you have a reputation to preserve! Focus on your career! You’ve already had a great comeback at the Russian National with the gold medal! Next is-”

 

“DAMN THE GOLD! I DON’T CARE ABOUT IT!” Viktor shouted, and his coach was silent as he composed himself again. He realized now that Yakov had been stopping him from acting on how his heart felt towards Yuuri since he woke up. He said to him, “I trusted you, Yakov. Why would you do this to me? To us?

 

“What do you even remember about him anyway!?” Yakov bellowed, “Your so-called marriage was never even legal!”

 

“But it doesn’t make it any less real, does it!?” Viktor argued back and said, “If you had told me, I would have stayed close to him. I would not have left him alone.” He sobbed, “Do you even know how hard it was to turn away from him?”

 

Yakov scoffed, because he had nothing to say against Viktor. He knew he had Viktor’s best interest when he planned their separation but as soon as he saw the pained expression on Viktor’s face when he urged them to leave the hospital, Yakov had to admit that he was tempted to undo his plan if that would make Viktor whole and happy again. But he pressed on, and he would never doubt his decision, nor regret it because Viktor himself willingly entered into a contract that he could never pull out of until he was allowed to retire.

 

“I don’t remember him but I will,” Viktor continued, “And I’m going to find him, and bring him home.”

 

“Wait! Vitya!” Yakov shouted over the phone in a panic, “The Europeans is next week! You are not bolting from this!” Viktor was silent and the old coach sighed, “You forgot, didn’t you?”

 

“…I don’t care about skating anymore, Yakov,” Viktor admitted, “I just want to go to him.”

 

“Stay for the Europeans. Get the gold medal,” Yakov’s voice was stern but also gentle in defeat, “Then you are free to do whatever you want after that.”

 

Viktor hung up without answering Yakov. He fell back onto the couch and covered his eyes with his hand as fresh tears threatened to fall again. He silently wondered how much tears he had shed today thinking about Yuuri when not even the relief of a victory or the anguish of a defeat could draw a tear out of him during the entire course of his career.

 

Makkachin stuck his head through a tear in the backpack to investigate the content with his nose. When he pulled away, a small notebook fell out of the tear and onto the floor beside Viktor. He picked it up and stared at the open page where his own cursive handwriting was scribbled alongside Yuuri’s neat handwriting. It was a list of planned jumps and spins the Japanese representative would include in his upcoming competition. Viktor smiled at his lover’s ambition but that smile faltered when Yakov’s words echoed in his mind and he recalled seeing Yuuri’s leg in a cast at the hospital. He became more concerned about his injured leg more than his future.

 

Viktor turned to the next page out of curiousity and found a brief itinerary of what was to be their honeymoon trip in Paris:

_- >_ _Dinner at Le Train Bleu @ Gare de Lyon_

_Eiffel Tower_ _- >_ _Luxembourg Gardens_ _- >_ _Pont des Arts_ _- >_ _Louvre Museum_

_Wall of “I Love You’s”_ _- >_ _Montmartre_ _- >_ _Parc des Buttes Chaumont_

_- >_ _Home_

 

His fingers gingerly traced over the ink and as his fingers came to rest on the word “Home”, a single tear fell onto the page. Viktor quickly rubbed it off before it could smear the precious word and took a deep breath, shaking his head. He decided to focus on remembering the places Yuuri wanted to go; because he would bring him there someday, as husbands, and never to be parted again. They would have annual honeymoons, and Viktor would propose to Yuuri every year on their anniversary.

 

 _“When was it?”_ he found himself asking, _“When did I propose? Or did he? When did we get married?”_ The dread of not remembering welled up in him again. He had plenty of questions for Yuri when he eventually arrive but for now, Viktor needed a distraction, and the two luggage bags before him as well as a messy bedroom were good distractions.

 

Viktor closed the notebook in his hand and slipped it inside the backpack by his feet. He sat on the floor again to go through the opened luggage bag, with his hand resting longer than it should on Yuuri’s costumes and every other item that looked like it belonged to his husband. He randomly picked up a black training t-shirt and buried his face on it, and he thought he could almost register Yuuri’s scent mixed with Viktor’s cologne. He smiled into the t-shirt realizing they shared luggage bags instead of packing two individual luggage bags. He wondered what else they shared, and where they drew the line for personal privacy.

 

He moved on to open up the other luggage bag and found that their clothes inside smelled clean and fresh of soap. He looked back at the other luggage bag and understood that it was packed for cleaning. He zipped up the luggage bag and left it by the door so he wouldn’t forget to bring it over to the laundry shop next time. Viktor then gathered the clean clothes into his arms and walked towards their closet, and hung Yuuri’s clothes in the emptied half of the closet. As he hung up his own clothes, he felt a square box tucked safely into a breast pocket. He opened the dark blue box and found a pair of golden rings inside. His hands trembled knowing it was their engagement ring because the rings looked worn, but it also meant that they were recently married if they had switched these gold rings for the platinum rings prior to the crash; during the Grand Prix Final.

 

Viktor brought the box back to the bedroom and set it beside their platinum wedding rings; they now glinted orange in the rays of the setting sun. He hesitated as he picked up his wedding ring and slipped it back into the fourth finger on his right hand. Relief instantly washed over him when he felt the weight of his love on his finger and his eyes took in the glint on his hand; he was no longer denying himself love.

 

“Yuuri,” he softly called out the name again as he kissed his ring, “Wait for me.”

 

But first, Viktor needed to get their home reorganized. He had somewhat cleaned the living space and kitchen, and now all that was left was this messy bedroom they shared. Viktor began picking up the books and items from the floor. He neatly stacked the gaming magazines back onto Yuuri’s nightstand, and when he lined up the books on the other nightstand, he found a small handbook of everyday Japanese phrases. As he slowly flipped the worn book, he saw his own Russian handwriting scribbled in almost every page and was surprised that he also made an effort to bridge their language barrier. He stopped at a chapter marked by a folded piece of paper. It was a short chapter for phrases used during sexual intercourse; with circles for the Japanese words for “more”, “there”, “harder”, and “deeper”. Viktor smirked at himself because he knew he would never be a good lover, and his obviously perverted intention to learn Yuuri’s language proved it.

 

His attention turned to the paper that marked the chapter and his eyes widened when he unfolded it. The memo was dated December 2016, and it was a list of places in Paris, almost similar to Yuuri’s list:

_Wall of “I LOVE YOUs”_

_Pont des Arts/Lovelocks_

_Sacré Couer Basilica_

_Eiffel Tower_

 

In the space beside the short list was the word “PROPOSE!!!” written in bold with multiple underlines and circled repeatedly in excitement. Viktor smiled down at his list as his eyes brimmed with tears, realizing that he had planned to propose to Yuuri in Paris years ago, and murmured, “I was such an idiot in love.”

 

He did not have the luxury of time to wonder why they were not married sooner as his ears picked up the sound of his apartment door being unlocked.

 

The young Russian tiger was never a person with manners, except for the times when he felt like behaving like a proper adult. But at this moment, Yuri chose to not have the courtesy to knock or ring the doorbell before he used the apartment key that was entrusted to him by Yakov. He opened the door wide and let himself in, pulling a large leopard-print luggage bag behind him. Viktor walked out to meet him and noticed a black-haired man behind him placed a large box onto the floor of the living space.

 

“Viktor?” Yuri strode over to him at the door of the bedroom, looking worried, “You look horrible.”

 

Viktor said nothing to him, but looked at the foreign man behind Yuri. The familiar man walked up to him and offered a handshake, and introduced himself, “Otabek Altin. Yuri’s… friend.”

 

Viktor shook the hand, vaguely remembered the name and seeing the young man from the few recent competitions that he could recall. He turned back to Yuri and saw his green eyes fixated on the remnants of the paired mugs on the counter. A flash of anger exploded from within the younger man and Viktor quickly found himself pinned to the wall behind him.

 

“What have you done!?” Yuri seethed; his breaths reverberated in the apartment as he roughly grabbed Viktor’s shoulders. The hand that wore the wedding ring reached up to clasp tightly around Yuri’s wrist and forcefully pulled it away. Yuri took a step back as he felt the air around Viktor changed.

 

“I regret it, Yuri,” Viktor confessed and anger slowly laced into his hoarse voice, “But you were also hiding him from me, weren’t you? You have no right to be more furious than I am.”

 

“Viktor, I-” Yuri wanted to argue but he was as guilty as Yakov despite his reluctance to obey him. He only wished to help Viktor and Yuuri recover memories of each other, but he was forbidden to and was instructed to erase every trace of that Japanese skater’s existence from Viktor’s life. After Yuri had stolen most items that would have made Viktor raise questions, the apartment looked as bare as it had been and it chipped his cold heart. He foolishly placed his hopes on the little things that were not supposed to matter, especially the paired mugs, but his forgetful pretense seemed to be in vain.

 

“He lived here with me but you, and Yakov, tried to erase his existence!” Viktor tried to control his rage, “We could have started over, if it wasn’t for you two!” Viktor took a step forward but was blocked by Otabek, who had now moved between the two Russian skaters, because he knew a fight that was about to happen.

 

“You haven’t realized it, have you?” Yuri raised his voice.

 

“Yuri!” Otabek warned him from provoking Viktor, but it seemed futile.

 

“Because of you and that pig, being gay is now a crime in Russia!” the younger Russian shouted, “But you, MISTER LIVING LEGEND VIKTOR NIKIFOROV, you alone are an exception to this new law because you are a fucking national hero!” Yuri stopped to breathe, “That’s why they used you.”

 

“…what?” the anger in Viktor vanished, and the shock set in.

 

“You stupidly signed a secret contract with the government of Russia,” Yuri continued, “That you’d be pardoned from the crime if you skated for the country.” He scoffed when it almost sounded like nothing unachievable to Viktor. Then he added, “On three conditions: win the gold medal on every Russian National; win at least one gold medal on the international stage per year; until the year 2019.”

 

“But that’s…” Viktor could not find the words. He knew the conditions were not impossible, but at the same time, he could almost count the numbered days before it would become impossible for him; because despite giving his best during the past week’s practice, Viktor could feel the quality of his jumps deteriorated as his body disintegrate even more. His voice was barely audible when he asked next, “And if I failed…?”

 

“Jail time for every reported account of your homosexual activity around the world,” the young skater answered him, “If you lived long enough, you might be able to see him again, if he is still alive and kicking.”

 

“That long…?” Viktor trailed off in disbelief, “Then you were…”

 

“…trying to keep you to your contract,” Otabek answered for Yuri.

 

“Because you’re a fool in love,” Yuri reached out to grab Viktor by his collar, “Even if you can’t remember him, you would drop everything for him at the risk of ruining both your lives. That’s why we hid it from you.”

 

“If I had known before the Russian National,” Viktor’s voice was soft as a whisper, “I would have been in jail right now without any chance of seeing him again.” He held his head in his hands, “Maybe without ever remembering the life we had.”

 

“Yuri,” the two younger men listened to the anguish in his voice, “I can’t remember anything and it hurts whenever I tried to, but I want to know everything about him. About us. Then maybe, I could start to recall our memories. Please, tell me everything.”

 

Both Yuri and Otabek stared at Viktor, who now looked so broken as if nothing could possibly piece him back together again. There was only a tiny glimmer of hope in his otherwise lifeless blue eyes where fresh tears were falling down his pale face. His hair was tousled and his clothes were disheveled from Yuri’s rough handling.

 

Even Viktor himself knew he had never looked so pathetic in all his life, but he didn’t care. Now that he knew about Katsuki Yuuri, he wanted to know everything. He wanted to stop longing and crying for a nameless lover. He wanted his lover to fill this nagging emptiness in his heart that no one else could fill. He wanted to run to Yuuri. He wanted to hug Yuuri close. He wanted to bring Yuuri home. He wanted to keep Yuuri by his side. He wanted Yuuri to complete him.

 

All his selfish thoughts were interrupted by a sudden and forceful tug. Viktor looked down and saw that Yuri had grabbed him by the front of his sweater and was dragging him towards the couch. He let himself be thrown down onto the soft cushion. When he looked up at the boy from the couch, Yuri was staring down at him with sadness in his eyes.

 

“Sit!” Yuri told him, “Beka and I will put everything back. Story time later.” Yuri turned away from Viktor before he could answer and nodded to Otabek, and the two of them quickly got to work.

 

Viktor sat in silence, with Makkachin resting by Viktor’s thigh, and watched the two younger men hustled to and fro in his apartment. He tried to recognize the clothes Yuri had in his arms when he walked by to put them back into the half empty closet, but it looked unfamiliar. He stared at the framed photograph Otabek told him belonged on the coffee table. It was a picture of himself with Yuuri in their matching blue and purple exhibition costume, with their hands forming a heart shape. Viktor found himself smiling at the grin Yuuri had on his face, and when his eyes travelled to the image of himself, he thought he could almost feel the love he had for his lover, because he only had eyes and smile for Yuuri.

 

When Viktor looked up from the photograph, he thought the apartment felt different. It almost felt like home. His closet was filled, and there were more photographs of himself with Yuuri pinned by samurai magnets on his refrigerator. The wall in their bedroom was almost full of pictures and posters of himself, of Katsuki Yuuri, and of the two of them together.

 

“That’s everything,” Yuri said to him as Viktor continued to stare at the wall in his bedroom. He could not tell if Yuuri was his biggest fan, or if he was the bigger Katsuki Yuuri fan, because it seemed to him that he requested more selfies with him than Yuuri did. He could almost count the handful of photographs that Yuuri invited him to be in. It was as if Viktor’s love for him was much deeper than Yuuri’s love. And this ugly doubt made a new crack in Viktor’s heart; perhaps Yuuri was fine not remembering him?

 

“Viktor,” Otabek called and Viktor turned to him, grateful for the sudden distraction. “I’ve organized your fan letters into a box,” he told him and Viktor nodded with a word of gratitude and a firm smile. Otabek tapped Yuri on his shoulder and said, “I’ll go buy dinner, while you… talk to him.”

 

“Yeah, thanks, Beka,” Yuri nodded faintly and his eyes trailed after Otabek’s retreating back. As soon as the apartment door closed, he turned to face Viktor, who was now staring at him. He braced himself with a deep breath and asked “What do you want to know?”

 

“Everything,” Viktor answered, “From the beginning.”

 

Yuri sat them down on the couch and told him everything he knew. He told Viktor how he first knew about Yuuri at the Grand Prix Final in 2015; how they danced at the banquet; and how he dropped his five consecutive gold medals streak to coach him in Japan. Viktor listened in silence as Yuri continued to tell him of their time spent together in Japan and Russia, and winning competitions side by side all over the world.

 

“And does he?” Viktor asked, looking away from Yuri.

 

“What?” Yuri blinked at him. He was sitting cross-legged on the couch facing Viktor, who also sat on the same couch but in the more proper fashion: facing the television.

 

“Does Yuuri love me?” Viktor repeated his question in length. He felt remorseful for doubting Yuuri’s feeling without remembering the man, but that fear nagged at him, because all he had heard was how he was so sickeningly in love with Katsuki Yuuri. He knew their love should not be compared, but Viktor felt the slight insecurity at the doubt that he was the one who had invested more into the relationship.

 

Yuri kicked Viktor’s thigh in response and answered angrily, “Katsudon have probably loved you for more than half his life! You were the reason he became a figure skater! He made it this far as a figure skater because of you! So don’t you dare belittle his feelings!” Yuri then added begrudgingly, “And also, he is the typical shy Japanese man.”

 

“Except when he isn’t,” Viktor subconsciously retorted with a smirk, and he froze as soon as he understood the words he just uttered. Yuri stared at him, and they fell into a deep and awkward silence.

 

“I DON’T WANT TO KNOW!” Yuri shouted with an exasperated sigh at the unwanted hint about their sex life, and pointed a finger accusingly at Viktor, “And you DO remember!”

 

Viktor nervously laughed to hide his embarrassment and said, “I don’t really remember. Just flashes of images or thoughts, but never his face or name.”

 

He turned to look at Yuri and smiled warmly at the angry young adult. He remembered him as an angry little kitten who had little patience and only loved his grandfather, but Viktor now realized that the eighteen-year-old Yuri was no longer a rebellious teenager, and had made enough room in his heart to love others. He dared to surmise that Katsuki Yuuri and he were two of the most fortunate people who were able to earn love from Yuri’s ice cold heart. 

 

“You love us, don’t you, Yuri?” Viktor asked, his gentle smile unwavering.

 

“Don’t get ahead of yourself!” Yuri threw the sushi cushion at Viktor but before he could tease about the faint blush that was appearing on his junior’s face, Yuri abruptly stood up from the couch and walked over to the apartment door. He opened it just as Otabek was about to knock. Without being asked, Yuri answered, “I heard your footsteps.”  

 

“I bought pizzas,” Otabek said. Viktor watched that odd conversation continued to unfold from the couch and wondered how those two were able to understand each other when they were not actually holding a proper conversation. Realization dawned on him as he observed Otabek passing a packet of pirozhki to Yuri, who grinned at him excitedly. Viktor was sure they were in a relationship and he felt jealousy rose up in his heart. He wished Yuuri was with him then and he could almost recall a similar scene involving a bowl of…

 

“OI! Let’s eat up!” Yuri’s voice snapped him back to reality.

 

The three of them dug into the pizzas without mentioning the past again. They talked about ordinary nothings, like how Otabek managed to find a delicious pizza restaurant that they never knew existed despite living in this area for years, and the conversation went onto their plans for the upcoming European Figure Skating Championship.

 

“I’m withdrawing,” Viktor told them bluntly. Yuri dropped his piroshok in shock while Otabek stared at him in silence.

 

“What!?” Yuri exclaimed, “Haven’t I explicitly told you what would happen if you don’t get a gold medal?”

 

“It’s still January,” Viktor answered without hesitation, “I can skip this and go for the others by the year’s end. Finding Yuuri is more important to me right now.”

 

Yuri grabbed Viktor by his sweater for the fourth time of the day and said, “I didn’t tell you about Katsudon so you could abandon the Europeans!”

 

“I’ve decided on that before you came. Yakov knows,” Viktor told him without a shred of uncertainty, “I’m going to Japan.”

 

“But you don’t even know WHERE Katsudon is!” Yuri shook Viktor.

 

“Ah! I’ve been meaning to ask you that,” Viktor smiled amidst the tension in the air.

 

Yuri sighed in disbelief that Viktor could still be carefree under such heavy circumstance. He answered, “Hasetsu, in Saga Prefecture. At a hot springs resort called Yu-topia Katsuki.”

 

“Thank you!” Viktor’s smile widened, but Yuri cannot let Viktor go to Japan. Not now.

 

“Viktor, don’t go,” Yuri begged, “Not yet.”

 

“Yuri, he is my-” Viktor could not finish his sentence.

 

“He doesn’t know you!” Yuri told him, “You know he lost all his memories! And now he is still adjusting to his new life while nursing his broken leg. He doesn’t need you barging into his life right now.”

 

“Then WHEN can I-” Viktor was losing his patience but was interrupted again.

 

“Phichit is going to Japan in a week, during our Europeans,” Yuri said, “He plans to tell him.”

 

“And you want me to wait?” Viktor lamented as he counted the days he had lived without Yuuri in his mind, _“38 lonely days, and more to go.”_

 

“Give them time,” Yuri told him, “Go to the Europeans. Get the gold. Then do whatever you want after that.”

 

Those were also the words Yakov told him. Viktor sighed in defeat.

 

He spent the rest of the night alone in the apartment he called “home” and pieced back the recipe and notes he had torn up earlier. As soon as he was done, he took a photo of the recipe for katsudon with his mobile phone for reference with the intention to shop for the necessary ingredients the next day. He thought he should try to cook a dish he now know to be Yuuri’s favourite, and maybe both of them could remember something when they finally eat it together. Viktor looked around the apartment and thought about how he only had anger for the things he didn’t recognize a mere few hours ago but now every foreign item his eyes lie on seemed precious to him, especially the shattered mugs. And he swore he would get them replaced by the week’s end, to the exact design and colour, with Yuri’s help.

 

As he lay on the bed he once shared with Yuuri, his mind swirled with curiousity about the sort of sex life they had. He was quite sure that he was the one to drive Yuuri mad with want if he were to trust his hazy memories, but he also wondered if he was also on the receiving end of his husband’s love. How would Yuuri lead him around on their bed? How would he look when he stare down at Viktor? What would he say?

 

Viktor shook his head when he felt a lustful need rising within him and he quickly turned to lie on his side. His arm reached over to the pillow beside him out of habit and he thought he could almost recall the touch of Yuuri’s soft tummy beneath his hands. He let his lustful thoughts flow away from him as he hugged the pillow to sleep, imagining that it was Yuuri instead.  

 

The next morning, Viktor obediently went for practice.

 

The next week, Viktor skated to _Aria: Stammi Vicino, Non Te Ne Andare_ at the Europeans stage. This time, he skated with an ardent yearning full of genuine passion that called out to only one person: Katsuki Yuuri. But his obsessive love for Yuuri only earned him the silver medal and Viktor felt no joy in claiming that medal. What he truly wanted was beyond his reach until Yuri ran up to him on the last day of the Europeans with a message on his mobile phone that read:

 

[He knows.] – Phichit.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Please note that "homosexual being illegal again" is fictional in this story.  
> In Russia, same-sex sexual activity between consenting adults in private was decriminalized in 1993, but a majority of Russians still favours laws discriminating against homosexuals. That's why I'm using Viktor's homosexuality and his status as the national hero as the reason Russia recriminalize same-sex sexual activity.
> 
> Remember the model for Viktor's apartment? http://www.designfather.com/scandinavian-apartment-industrial-elements-architect-denis-krasikov/  
> Thank you lazuliblade for figure skating info!
> 
>  
> 
> Talk to me on tumblr here : https://iarrod.tumblr.com/  
> Or on twitter here : https://twitter.com/iarrod  
> If you want me to stay up late more often and write, buy me a coffee here : https://ko-fi.com/A043T8W


	5. To Find You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Panic attacks, anxiety, depression, verbal attacks

 

Yuuri thought that if he pretended to be Katsuki Yuuri for long enough, he might someday believe that he was the Japanese figure skating champion everyone wanted him to be. He tried to convince himself that having an identity could anchor him to this world and spent all his waking hours learning about Katsuki Yuuri; memorizing his past, his behavior, his likes and dislikes, but the more he knew about him, the more he hated himself for living a lie. He held on as he silently waited for the day he could call strangers as “family” and to have a place to call “home”, and to truly feel that he belonged.

 

He did not like masquerading as Katsuki Yuuri but he was never given the freedom to choose a life that was his own. He was never allowed to imagine that he could be anyone else other than Katsuki Yuuri. If he was given a choice when he first woke up, he might have chosen to start his life anew, and he might be leading a happier life never knowing his past or be forced into the identity of a man whose life was so perfect and yet, so tragic. 

 

_“He doesn’t remember you.”_

 

Those four words shattered the small glimmers of a future he had been piecing together for Katsuki Yuuri, and he surrendered himself to drift away from the identity he had adopted. He let himself sink deep into the dark abyss of amnesia, where there would be no flashes of memories to give him hope.

 

“Yuuri?” his sister, Mari, knocked on his door. She sounded concerned, “Can you come down for dinner, please? You’ve been inside your room for two days now. Mom and Dad are worried about you.”

 

He was silent as he lay still on the bed.

 

“Yuuri?” Mari called for him again, “Can you please let me know if you are alright in there?”

 

“I’m not hungry,” he reluctantly answered.

 

He heard Mari sighed in defeat, “Come down whenever you are ready, okay?”

 

 _“I don’t think I’ll ever be ready,”_ he answered silently in his heart as he heard Mari stepped away from his room.

 

 _“Katsuki Yuuri had a future,”_ he told himself, _“He was a world-class figure skater, but that future is now gone. He had a lover to return to, but now there is no one to go home to.”_

 

 _“What do I do now? Where do I go from here?”_ he shut his eyes from reality and pulled his knees tighter to his chest, feeling the coldness of the wall on his back, _“I don’t know who I was, or who I am supposed to be anymore.”_   Tears slipped from the corner of his eyes and down onto the bed. His mind stopped functioning whenever he tried to think and see beyond himself, but there was nothing for him; no past, and no future. And he desperately wished for someone to tell him something, anything.

 

 _“Your name is Katsuki Yuuri! And your husband, Viktor Nikiforov, will come back for you!”_ Phichit’s words from two nights ago rang loud and clear in his mind.

 

 _“Lies! He won’t come if he doesn’t remember!”_ Yuuri’s mind recalled shouting those words back at his friend in an angry burst of denial before forcing the Thai boy out of his room. They never said their goodbyes the next morning and Yuuri never replied Phichit’s messages. While he did feel guilty for lashing out, he was relieved to be able to speak his mind for the first time even though it was a fraction of what he had been feeling.

 

Yuuri stared at the light flashing from his mobile phone. There were new notifications, and he knew what they were without looking because he had foolishly subscribed to news alerts on Viktor Nikiforov a day ago; since he began looking up for everything about him on the Internet. He could feel the despair, jealousy and anger towards a husband he could not remember when he read the latest articles about the sexual scandals in Russia, but the more he looked at pictures of the Russian champion from the days of his earlier youth up to this year’s championship at the Europeans, Yuuri thought he could feel a strange but familiar tugging in his heart.

 

The first time he felt it was when he opened his eyes to his new life. The stranger’s features were now a blur of shapes and colours but Yuuri recalled seeing his forehead creased as his brows were knitted with worry and eyes that reminded him of the ocean. His heart squeezed as he recalled the warm feeling of love enveloping him at that moment. He thought he felt safe and wanted in that stranger’s presence but the memory of his first love became muddled when Phichit told him that the stranger in the hospital was Viktor himself. And now, after reading about the scandals, he thought he knew the reason Viktor left him despite his pitiful cries, _“He didn’t stay, because he never needed me.”_

 

Yuuri reached out for his mobile phone and swiped away the news alert without reading it. He pulled up his diary app and began to key in his sixth entry for the day. He needed to record his thoughts down, before he loses them, again. Straining his eyes on the bright screen against his dark surroundings, he began to tap one word after another, slowly filling the screen with words and thoughts he could never tell anyone. Even after saving that entry, Yuuri continued to stare at the darkened screen for hours, without actually thinking of anything in particular and let himself drown in helplessness and hopelessness.

 

A bark snapped Yuuri’s idleness and he heard quick patters of paws and thumps of footsteps up the wooden stairs. Horror descended into Yuuri’s mind when he realized that they were drawing closer towards him. His mind instantly switched into fight or flight mode and he shrieked when he heard a loud bark just outside his door. He scurried down the bed and crawled away to hide in the gap between his bed and his cupboard, where he would be out of sight should anyone or any beast come through the door to snag him. As soon as he did, the door was thrown open.

 

Then a familiar voice called out to him, “Yuuri!”

 

But he didn’t reply and kept his head down, wishing whoever it was to be gone. There were a few seconds of silence as his heart pounded in fright before he felt hot breathings on his lower back and then a forceful tug on his t-shirt. Yuuri shrieked and took a peek at the monstrosity behind him and saw a large brown poodle whining for his attention. In the midst of the crisis, that poodle somehow reminded him of the toy poodle Katsuki Yuuri used to love, and lost.

 

“There you are!” the voice said cheerfully.

 

Yuuri lifted his head up and froze. Even in the darkness of his room in the middle of the night, he could never mistake the silhouette of the Russian figure skater for anyone else. His brain tried to rationalize how the very person who haunted his thoughts for the last two days could be in Japan. Yuuri found himself filled with shock and denial, “Vik…tor?”

 

“I finally found you, Yuuri!” Viktor grinned at him, “Let’s go home!”

 

“…wha…?” he gasped. His breaths quickened and his heart pounded harder in his chest. His mind raced, _“You’re not supposed to be here. Why are you here? Go home? Where? With you? Who? Me?”_ His vision darkened and swirled, and he gasped for breaths, _“What is happening? I can’t see. I can’t breathe. My heart is-”_

 

“Yuu…ri?” colour drained from Viktor’s face and he instinctively reached out to pull his trembling lover into the safety of his arms. But Yuuri immediately pulled away from him, and hunched over with his forehead touching the floor in a vain attempt to calm himself. Viktor did not miss the look of fear on Yuuri’s face then and he understood it to be a rejection, but he refused to accept it. He knew he had to stay by his side, and he reasoned in the deepest part of his mind that Yuuri was rejecting his help because he did not remember him, and thus there was not enough trust between them for Yuuri to seek assurance in his arms during a panic attack; but he pushed on.

 

“Yuuri, breathe,” he calmly said and put a hand on Yuuri’s back even though the man he knew was his lover for the past 3 years did not respond to him. He thought he could hear his world fall apart when he heard Yuuri coughed and hyperventilated for air, but he had to stay his own panic. He hovered over Yuuri and hugged him. He tried again, “Close your eyes, and listen to my voice.”

 

It was the first time Yuuri felt this close to death and he thought his heart was trying to beat its way out of his chest. He clutched the front of his t-shirt to keep his heart inside him and gasped for air to stay alive as he drowned in the swirls of his vision. But the voice by his ear was calming and so he closed his eyes, and felt the nostalgic warmth that was surrounding him.

 

“Breathe with me,” Viktor told him and began to chant a breathing exercise he never knew he remembered, “Inhale, two, three, four, five. Hold, two. And exhale, two, three, four, five.”

 

Yuuri did exactly as he was told and let Viktor guide his breathing a few more times, until he felt his heart had calmed enough to beat at a normal pace. When he opened his eyes again, he noticed that his other hand had been pulling onto Viktor’s scarf which forced the Russian man to lean over his smaller frame. He quickly loosened his grip on the dark scarf but Viktor was still hunched over him in silence, and he secretly wanted it to last. For once, he felt safe and protected, but he knew he should not indulge himself.

 

“…um?” Yuuri awkwardly tried to break the comforting silence.

 

“Are we okay?” Viktor asked, as if out of habit. Then Yuuri nodded hesitantly.

 

Viktor lifted himself up to sit on his heels and suddenly the light in the room was turned on. He looked to the figure at the door and recognized the woman in her early thirties to be the same woman he saw at the hospital with Yuuri. He smiled at her before turning back to Yuuri, who was now trying to push himself up to sit on the bed. Viktor then had his first proper look at Yuuri after the hospital without the bandages and bruises covering his face and he thought his Japanese lover looked much more handsome than the posters he had in their apartment, and felt much more precious.

 

“You still remember how to deal with his panic attacks,” Mari commented with a smile as she saw how smitten that Russian man still was with her little brother.

 

“Ah, no,” Viktor stuttered for being caught staring at Yuuri, “I just… know it.”

 

“I see,” she knew he had learnt how to manage Yuuri’s panic attacks in the past, especially after their first year together. Mari had to admit that she felt terribly uncertain when Viktor cornered Yuuri in his room, and she almost wanted to throw Viktor to the wall when Yuuri began having a panic attack. But when she saw how quickly Viktor was responding to Yuuri, she decided to stay put and watched over them. She held her breath and counted the minutes until her little brother finally calmed down.

 

Mari could tell from Yuuri’s hunched back that he was uncomfortable with Viktor peering at him, so she called out to him, “Yuuri, want some katsudon?”

 

“Katsudon!” Viktor lit up at the word, “I’ve always wanted to eat that! Yuuri! It’s your favourite, right? Let’s go!”

 

He stood up and pulled Yuuri to his feet, but in his excitement, he had completely forgotten about Yuuri’s injured right ankle. His forceful tug made Yuuri take a few small steps forward before he stumbled onto Viktor, who instantly reached out to keep him from falling. Yuuri’s left foot quickly found the floor again and he balanced himself on one foot before setting his right foot down.

 

“I’m so sorry! Are you alright?” Viktor apologized almost immediately, but when Yuuri did not reply, he unconsciously tightened his hold around his waist. Fear gripped his heart and he turned to Mari and said, “Get the ambulance!”

 

“Wa-!” Yuuri stammered as he waved his hands in front of Viktor, “Wait! I’m alright!”

 

“Are you sure?” Viktor looked down at him, almost in disbelief, but Yuuri nodded earnestly at him. “You are not hurt?” he asked again, and Yuuri shook his head repeatedly in reply. In his relief, he dropped his forehead to meet Yuuri’s, oblivious to the chaos in the other’s mind.

 

 _“Wait! Wha-! He’s too close! His face! Too handsome! I can’t think!”_ Yuuri’s mind screamed at the lack of physical distance between himself and the man he thought he had given up on.

 

Meanwhile, Mari had to stop herself from smacking the two lovebirds as she watched the entire scene unfolded before her. She almost couldn’t believe how both of them were behaving like they used to when Viktor first turned up in Hasetsu to be Yuuri’s coach. The way her brother had become speechless when confronted with his idol of more than a decade was identical. Viktor, on the other hand, was as confident and behaved in an overly familiar manner with Yuuri; exactly like the morning he introduced himself in the hot spring, naked.

 

She turned away from the sickeningly affectionate scene between the two of them to grab Yuuri’s crutch by the desk, and shoved it into her brother’s hand. Yuuri was startled for a moment, and quickly parted from Viktor. His blush was as deep red as the time she caught him ogling over the latest poster of Viktor Nikiforov, who just made a debut as a senior figure skater with short silver hair. Yuuri shook his head to put his mind together again and set the crutch away.

 

“It’s late and I don’t want to disturb the other customers,” he answered Mari’s questioning look, “I can manage if I walk slowly.”

 

“Don’t push yourself,” his sister warned him and then said, “I’ll go on ahead. Viktor, I leave Yuuri to you.”

 

“Okay!” Viktor answered Mari with a smile as she retreated down the corridor, with Makkachin at her heels. He then turned back to Yuuri, his face softened as he asked, “Does it still hurt?”

 

“Um, no,” Yuuri told him but Viktor waited for an honest answer. He gulped, “Just a little.”

 

“Here, hold my hand,” he offered his arm to Yuuri.

 

“Ah, no. It’s alright,” Yuuri hesitated with a nervous laugh, and repeated, “I can manage.”

 

“You can’t fall again, Yuuri,” Viktor said with seriousness in his voice, and Yuuri felt dread overcame him.

 

“I’m sorry about earlier,” he mumbled, “It’s just that I got used to not putting pressure on it, that’s why I-”

 

“No, I don’t mean that,” he interrupted, “If you fall again, you might never skate anymore.”

 

 _“Of course that’s what he meant,”_ Yuuri stared at Viktor from behind unfeeling eyes. His eyes turned downwards as he put his hand on Viktor’s arm and said, “You’re right.”

 

“I’ve seen videos of your skating, you’re wonderful!” Viktor went on to hold a one-sided conversation as they slowly made their down the steps and headed for the dining area. Yuuri pretended to listen to him as he concentrated on his foot, and fought against the spiraling hopelessness of yet another impossible expectation of him. Not even the smell of his favourite piping hot and crispy pork cutlet rice bowl managed to distract him, and he only grew more envious as he watched Viktor dug into his bowl of katsudon and instantly bonded with his family.

 

“Vkusno!” Viktor exclaimed with rice on the side of his lips and grinned at Hiroko, “So this is katsudon! It’s so delicious! Amazing!” He turned to Yuuri, who sat beside him, “Do you eat this all the time?”

 

“Y-yes,” he answered, and tried to appear engaging with a smile. Viktor hummed as his eyes wandered lower, and Yuuri became rigid with fear that something was monumentally wrong with his body.

 

“Is this why you have gained weight?” Viktor asked, oblivious to his own insensitive remark. Yuuri unconsciously hugged his bulging pouch as he continued on, “You need to watch your weight, Yuuri. I can’t coach you if your body is not at its best!”

 

“C-coach?” Yuuri gasped.

 

“That’s right,” he grinned at him, “No more katsudon for you, little piggy!”

 

Before Yuuri could think of the end of his relationship with katsudon, Mari reached over the table to tousle Yuuri’s black hair, and she snickered, “I am actually happy that Yuuri has gained some weight since coming home. He was too thin during last year’s Grand Prix Final.”

 

“Mari,” he sighed her name and almost missed her warm hand on his head. He smiled faintly at her and wished that she knew how grateful he was for always having her on his side in every trivial moment of his life so far. Mari was the epitome of a loving big sister Yuuri could have ever asked for, if only he could steal her away from Katsuki Yuuri.

 

“Yuuri, are you thinking about going on a diet?” she smirked at him, “I bet you want to look as good as the old katsudon poster!” She pointed to the wall, at a poster of his slender figure skating days. Yuuri blushed in his embarrassment.

 

“Shall I start making your usual diet meals, Yuuri?” his mother suggested. Yuuri looked up at her and back at the poster of himself, and then down at his growing tummy. “Don’t worry, Yuuri,” Hiroko said with a smile, “You’ve always been good at losing weight.”

 

“Then, yes,” Yuuri nodded and then added, “Please.”

 

“Yuuri!” Viktor called for his attention, “How soon can you start practicing?”

 

“Um,” he was uncertain and he looked to Mari for help.

 

“The French doctor isn’t allowing it, Viktor,” Mari said, “He strongly suggest Yuuri to quit the sport but he hasn’t been to the rink yet, so we don’t know if he wants to continue or retire. Isn’t that right, Yuuri?”

 

“Ah, um yeah,” Yuuri mumbled his reply.

 

“Then we have to go to the rink!” he exclaimed, “Where is the nearest rink around here?”

 

“Ice Castle Hasetsu,” Mari told him, “I can bring you there tomorrow, after you get some rest for the day.”

 

“Arigaahtou! Gozahimasuu!!*” the Russian confidently thanked her in Japanese. 

 

Mari smiled and appreciated his effort for trying to speak Japanese again. Language had always been a barrier between him and the family, and he tried hard to bridge that barrier. His Japanese improved over the short years he spent with Yuuri, but sometimes, he still needed Yuuri or Mari as the translator when conversing with their parents. Mari giggled when she recalled how Viktor stole her away to ask for help on the night Yuuri won the Japanese qualifying round three years ago. She taught him the words he vaguely asked for and eavesdropped at the moment Viktor formally expressed his desire to Hiroko privately that he wanted to learn the way of the katsudon. Mari could not contain her laughter back then and only recovered after a few long minutes to translate, “Viktor wants to learn how to make katsudon for Yuuri.”

 

Mari never knew if he made Yuuri katsudon in Russia but she liked to think that he did. And seeing Viktor in their home again somehow renewed her hope that everything will be right again.

 

Thinking back, everyone who knew the sweet and chubby toddler never had to the heart to force him to do anything he hated; not even to eat his least favourite green. They only wanted the best for him, even to the point of almost spoiling him as a child. And they looked on proudly when the young Yuuri returned their love by giving his best in the sport he had chosen to skate into, but almost none of them noticed the mounting pressure of expectations that the teenage Yuuri quietly shouldered.

 

As his sister, Mari lacked the ability to talk Yuuri out of his shell and usually waited for him come out of it willingly. She would only pry when Yuuri seemed to want company and consoled him the best she could. But she could not offer silent comfort to him when Yuuri shut himself in his room since Phichit’s revelation. He never spoke a word to anyone who knocked on the door, nor did he touch the meals they set down for him outside the room. Mari was almost at her wits’ end and was about to resort to dragging Yuuri out when she received a call from Yakov, who informed her of Viktor’s imminent arrival.

 

And she placed her hope on Viktor; because he was different.

 

He was the world champion, an existence beyond reach, who sparked Yuuri’s motivation. He was the man Yuuri thought he could never gather enough courage to talk to in his life. But Viktor overturned every doubt Yuuri had when he barged into Yuuri’s life to demand for his commitment to the sport. He molded himself into the foundation that the feeble-minded Yuuri desperately needed, and he stood by Yuuri through every moment of weakness.

 

In the simplest of sense, Viktor differed from everyone else because he climbed down the pedestal the world had worshipped him on to stand by Yuuri’s side, and to launch him up the podium for champions; all because he found love in Yuuri and dared to take on the fight to keep him in his life. Their happy ending was already within their grasp, if only they were not involved that train derailment; or, if at least one of them remembered the other, then nothing could have separated them.

 

* * *

 

 

The truth was, Yuuri was afraid of taking up a sport he did not remember excelling in. He was sure that he could never be as amazing as Katsuki Yuuri had been, and there was little chance of being able to achieve half of the wonders that the Grand Prix Final champion had accomplished with an injured ankle. He had seen videos of the champion on the ice, but he could not envision a future of himself skating as Katsuki Yuuri. At this point, his future plan was a blank.

 

Mari stood leaning onto the rink’s barricade beside Yuuri, who had refused to speak a word to anyone since he was forcefully dragged to the ice rink by an enthusiastic Viktor in the early hours of the day. She noticed that he was wearing the same hollow look he had on when she met him at the hospital in France, when he woke up without his memories.

 

“We can come back again when your ankle has healed,” Mari tried to make conversation.

 

“I don’t want to,” her brother replied immediately, almost pouting.

 

That reply stunned Mari, but she still heaved a sigh of relief when he finally spoke. She giggled, “I see. Well, this place will still be here if you change your mind.”

 

Yuuri chose to ignore Mari, and his eyes turned to follow Viktor as he entered the rink. The sound of blades gliding on the ice was familiar to his ears but Yuuri felt no affinity for it. Instead, he was mesmerized by Viktor; gracefulness and elegance overflowed from him with every movement on the ice, and Yuuri found it almost too surreal to be able to witness the living legend skate in front of him. His mind became blank with awe as he distracted his mind from toying with the idea that he might have a future with Viktor.

 

“He’s amazing, isn’t he?” Yuuko commented as she came up to his side. He nodded in reply, and she smiled at him, “I’m sure you’re glad he’s here again, Yuuri.”

 

Even if his Russian husband did come to Japan for him, just as Phichit vowed he would, Yuuri realized that they should never get together, especially without memories of each other. There could only be anguish for two strangers to forcibly live together, and be haunted by forgotten memories they once shared. Moreover, it would be unfair to lie to Viktor, and to steal him away from Katsuki Yuuri.

 

His childhood friend tapped on his shoulder for attention and pointed at Viktor. Yuuko said, “He’s going to jump!”

 

Viktor waved at them just before he attempted a quadruple flip. He failed. The rink echoed in his fall and Viktor remained on the ice, in defeat.

 

“Vi-” Yuuri caught himself.

 

“Viktor! Are you okay!?” Yuuko shouted, her voice was much louder than Yuuri’s.

 

“Ah, I’m okay!” Viktor sat up, and then he laughed nervously as he skated closer to them, “I thought I could show Yuuri my best move, but it seems like I just failed. Now how else should I catch Yuuri’s eyes?”

 

But Yuuri had been looking at Viktor, and he noticed the split second expression of dejection on Viktor’s face that was quickly replaced by a grin just as he got up. He felt his heart clenched at the sight but he chose not to say a word. Viktor stopped in front of him, and their foreheads came very close to almost touching. 

 

“Or did I catch your eyes, Yuuri?” he asked with a hum as his finger slid up Yuuri’s neck and stopped at his chin. A glint reflected off a surface, and Yuuri saw the platinum ring on Viktor’s ring finger.

 

 _“I’m not him,”_ Yuuri realized that he should be the one to put distance between them and he quickly turned to walk away.

 

“No! Yuuri! Wait! Is it my wrinkles?” Viktor called after him, “You don’t like an old man like me!?”

 

“Oh, Viktor, you silly!” Yuuko laughed, “He is just shy!”

 

“Is he…?” he wondered and his eyes narrowed as he watched Yuuri walked out to the locker area. “Hey, Miss Manager,” Viktor turned back to Yuuko, “I think I will be staying in Hasetsu for some time. Will it be alright to use this rink as my home rink from now on? My coach insists that I don’t skip practice for Worlds.”

 

“Of course! Any time for you, Viktor!” Yuuko smiled, “I sure hope to see you win the gold medal again this year!”

 

“I will do my best,” Viktor flashed his usual charming smile that masked his own insecurity.

 

When they finally returned to the hot springs resort, Yuuri quickly made a beeline for the stairs and was closely followed by a whiny Viktor, who had been making one-sided conversation and generally pleading for Yuuri’s attention since the ride home. But the silence that fell as soon as they reached the top of the stairs was almost deafening. Yuuri gulped as he made his way towards the room at the end of the corridor with Viktor following behind him closer than before. The only sound that could be heard was the soft thuds of his crutches, and Yuuri unconsciously hastened his steps the closer he drew to his door, but Viktor’s hand reached out for the knob first and slammed his other hand on the door. Yuuri’s breath hitched when he found himself trapped between Viktor and the door to his safe haven.

 

“Yuuri,” he called, almost menacingly, “You haven’t spoken to me all day.”

 

The voice that once brought him back from the verge of death now seemed to have halted his world from orbiting and Yuuri could clearly hear his heart pounding rapidly in his ears as brown eyes darted from the hand on the knob to the hand in front of his face, desperately searching for an escape. He did not have the audacity to retaliate, and Yuuri could not find his voice to begin apologizing. He did not even realize that he had been holding his breath.

 

“Don’t ignore me, Yuuri. Didn’t we hit it off last night? What has changed?” Viktor asked urgently, but Yuuri still held his silence. He then said, “I know you are in love with me, Yuuri. You cannot ignore me like this.”

 

Yuuri’s mind screamed in panic as he suffocated for breaths again. He had to command his lungs to draw long and deep breaths, and this alerted Viktor, who immediately tried to calm Yuuri again by placing his hands on Yuuri’s shoulders. But Yuuri saw a chance to escape. He discarded his crutches as he reached out to turn the round metal doorknob and quickly shuffled inside his room. Once inside, he slammed the door and locked it, leaving a stupefied Viktor outside of his room. Yuuri’s ordeal was not over as he drew ragged breaths and he slid down to sit on the floor.

 

“Yuuri! That was low! You tricked me!” Viktor banged on the door and demanded, “Open the door!”

 

The room spun with every loud thud and Yuuri had to resort to lying on the floor to prevent himself from falling. He curled into himself as his breaths shuddered. He heard his name being called out again and again echoing the incessant banging on the wooden door; it was hurting his brain and Yuuri finally shouted, “Go away!”

 

The banging stopped and there was a brief moment of silence before Yuuri finally picked up the sound of Viktor’s heavy footsteps walking away; then the shoji door leading to the banquet room slid open, and shut. Yuuri’s eyes widened when he realized that there was no escape from Viktor Nikiforov, as long as he was occupying the room right next to his. It was a nightmare Yuuri desperately wished to wake up from; or to fall asleep forever if it meant that he could avoid this reality. He closed his eyes and willingly gave into the darkness of his mind as it swallowed him whole, taking away his consciousness.

 

“Yuuri?” Mari’s soft voice came from beyond the realm of his dreams, “Can you open the door?”

 

 _“OPEN THE DOOR!”_ a masculine voice shouted in his dreams and Yuuri woke up with a yelp.

 

“Yuuri! Are you alright?” Mari asked and knocked on the door. Yuuri pressed his hands to his mouth to contain the cries of weakness inside him, and found his face to be wet with tears. Mari knocked harder on the door, “Can I come in?”

 

Yuuri was tempted to hide himself away, especially when he knew he looked terrible, but he unlocked the door for Mari anyway without suspecting that Viktor could be waiting outside with her. But only Mari stepped into the room and at first, she couldn’t find Yuuri in the darkness until she turned around to close the door and saw him sitting behind it. She locked the door again, knowing it would give him some reassurance, and set aside the crutches she found leaning on the wall outside the room.

 

“Hey there,” she greeted and sat down beside Yuuri, who was hugging his knees tightly to his chest. Mari became worried when he did not respond to her, but she knew she had to patiently wait for him, or he would withdraw deeper into his shell.

 

“I don’t know what I’m doing, Mari,” his voice was muffled by the sleeves of his thick winter coat, but Mari heard him nonetheless. She moved closer and put an arm around him.

 

“I’m here, Yuuri,” she assured him, “We’re all here for you. Even Viktor.” Yuuri froze at the mention of the name, and Mari noticed. She asked, “Was it Viktor? Did he do something to you?”

 

Yuuri heard the rising concern in Mari’s voice and he was sure that she would chew Viktor out if he told her about the earlier incident. Then Viktor might leave Japan forever because of what he complained, and Yuuri realized that he wanted him near, even though he made up his mind to reject him. He thought he needed Viktor to stay until he sorted out his conflicting feelings. So he lied to Mari, “No.”

 

“I see,” Mari had her doubts but she decided to let it slide, “Well, do you want dinner? Katsudon?”

 

Yuuri hesitated. He knew he had to eat to survive but he was not feeling the hunger, and moreover, he was not mentally prepared to meet Viktor. A scenario ran across his mind and he was afraid of being cornered again in front of his family, and be rendered speechless under Viktor’s intense gaze. There might not be an escape this time, and he would have to face Viktor.

 

Mari picked up on Yuuri’s reluctance but she misunderstood it as shy infatuation for Viktor. She teased him, “If you want to see Viktor, you’ve just missed your chance. He already had his dinner and is out for a run. He’ll be back in an hour or so.”

 

“No! I didn’t mean-” Yuuri tried to deny.

 

“Don’t worry,” Mari smirked and patted his shoulder, “Viktor said he will be staying here until the Worlds. So you will have plenty of chances to gawk at your childhood idol.”

 

Yuuri nervously laughed and missed his chance to correct Mari as she immediately went on to tell him about a younger Katsuki Yuuri who grew up looking at Viktor Nikiforov as his role model. Now he understood the reason young Yuuri pursued figure skating so ardently into his adulthood; he didn’t want to meet Viktor merely as a fan, instead he wanted to be acknowledged by his idol as a worthy rival. And he got more than he hoped for when love and marriage happened. His life was truly perfect.

 

But the current Yuuri possessed nothing; no talent that he could use as courage to speak to Viktor as an equal, and no memories to make him his lover. Even though Yuuri understood that Viktor had come for him and was pursuing him for love, he felt that accepting Viktor into his life was worse than stealing Katsuki Yuuri’s family. Because Viktor was not bound to him by anything but their memories, which they had both lost, and Viktor’s love was not directed at him but at the figure skating champion named Katsuki Yuuri.

 

“Did you space out, Yuuri?” Mari waved her hand in front of him. Yuuri looked up at his sister from the dining table.

 

“I’m sorry,” Yuuri apologized, “I was thinking about writing down everything you just said into the album.”

 

“Well, think later,” she told him and pointed at a bowl of katsudon in front of him. She grinned, “Diet always starts tomorrow.”

 

Hiroko sat in front of Yuuri and noticed that he was not smiling as widely as he usually would. Before the train wreck, Yuuri would whole-heartedly enjoy every bite of his favourite rice bowl without a single worry in the world. But now, there was silence as he slowly chewed on the crispy pork cutlet. She was tempted to ask, but she understood that the events in the last few days had been too much for him. So she stayed her curiousity, and hoped that Yuuri himself would talk to them about it soon.

 

“Viktor!” Hiroko called out when she saw the familiar figure walking along the corridor. Yuuri froze. Viktor stopped and turned to her with a smile at first, but when he saw Yuuri’s back, a scowl appeared on his face for a split second. “Do you need supper?” she asked sweetly, not noticing the change in his facial expression.

 

“No, thank you,” Viktor answered, “I’m heading to bed after a bath. Good night.”

 

Yuuri was able to breathe again when he heard Viktor walked away. Even though he knew he would inevitably meet Viktor again if he stepped out of his room, Yuuri was not prepared to face a renewed confrontation with him so soon. He was relieved when none of his mind’s wild scenarios panned out but Yuuri thought he could almost begin to feel that their non-existent relationship was being steered towards the bad end. He could not tell if it was for the better or worse; because he knew he should not reach out for Viktor’s love if he would only lose it in the end; but despite the guilt he felt towards Katsuki Yuuri for stealing everyone he loved, he admitted that his heart still yearned for Viktor’s affection, but that was a secret desire he would keep only to himself.

 

He was careful to make as little noise as possible when he stepped and grasped his way up the stairs. Yuuri felt slightly more confident in putting pressure on his right foot again when it did not hurt as much as the first time he tried to test his foot during physiotherapy. The pain was unbearable then, but now he only felt a slight discomfort. With the window sill supporting half of his body weight, Yuuri slowly made his way towards his room. As he inched forward, he froze when his eyes glimpsed darkness to his left.

 

The usually closed doors to the banquet room were now wide open, and Viktor stood half naked between the doors; his hands were on the handles, as if he was about to close the doors and retire into the darkened room. Yuuri silently cursed his horrible timing and his own reaction for meeting Viktor’s gaze. He steeled himself for a barrage of angry words for ignoring and avoiding his supposedly Russian husband, but there was only silence. Viktor stood there staring back at him, and waited for Yuuri to speak first. But Yuuri saw it as a chance to escape. He quickly shuffled into his room and shut the door behind him.

 

 _“I… could have said something. I was very rude,”_ Yuuri sighed with regret in the safe confines of his room, _“At least a ‘good night’.”_

That feeling of remorse kept him up all night, and while Yuuri wanted to correct it, he did not have the nerve to knock on Viktor’s door hours later only to wish him a “good night”, especially not after deliberately ignoring him for the entire day. So he hid under his blanket in shame and tried to find sleep, and decided to speak to Viktor tomorrow.  

 

 _“…good morning. Good morning! GOOD MORNING!!”_ Yuuri repeated for the hundredth time in his mind. He shook his head, _“No, too loud. Just a normal ‘good morning’ will do.”_  

 

Viktor’s alarm went off in the other room, and Yuuri snapped his head up from the bed. He knew he had to get outside his room and greet Viktor but the bed suddenly felt like a quicksand holding him in; his legs felt as heavy as lead when he tried to swing it over the edge of the bed. Even though his eyes were on the target beyond his door, Yuuri became paralyzed with fear and he could not summon his body to move. He sat in his room as he heard Viktor’s footsteps grew softer. His fist clenched tightly in disappointment at himself and he struggled to regain control of his body again. He thought he could greet Viktor when he returned to his room again in a few minutes but when Yuuri looked up at the analog clock on his desk, hours had already gone by; and Viktor never came back.

 

At the realization that there was no imminent danger of greeting Viktor, all the tension immediately left him and Yuuri was suddenly in control of his body again. There was a lingering warning at the back of his mind that he would find Viktor if he stepped out of his room, and the temptation to stay hidden in his room was strong. But Yuuri remembered that he was playing the role of a son to the Katsuki family, and the least he could do in return for their kindness was to help run the resort. So he stood up decisively to reach for his door before his mind and body could betray him, and stepped out of his room. For a moment, Yuuri felt victorious over his usual weak self.

 

“…good morning, sorry I am late,” Yuuri greeted his family as soon as he reached the lobby. Everyone turned to him with a smile, and returned the greeting as if they were real family; as if they were glad Katsuki Yuuri was alive and living with them.

 

“Yuuri! Good morning!” Hiroko greeted him, “What would you like for breakfast? Katsudon? Or your usual diet breakfast menu?”

 

“Anything you make is delicious, Mum,” he answered with a shy smile as Hiroko dashed happily away to prepare his breakfast. Yuuri turned and saw his father took a snow shovel before making his way towards the main entrance. He called out, “Dad! Let me help with that.”

 

“Hm?” Toshiya turned back to his son, “Don’t be silly, Yuuri! I can still handle this much!”

 

“Yeah. What are you saying, Yuuri?” Mari chimed in, looking up from arranging the newspaper and magazine on the table, “You can’t shovel snow with that foot of yours. Not until the doctor gives the green light.” He looked down with guilt for not being able to help as he had offered, but Mari smiled and said, “Well, speaking of which, you have an appointment with the doctor today, don’t you? So let’s have him take a look and see what he says.”

 

“Yeah,” he nodded with a hopeful smile.

 

“Oh,” Mari stopped, “Viktor and Makkachin had gone out for a run and said he’d head straight to the Ice Castle for practice. They won’t be back anytime soon though.”

 

“Right,” Yuuri nodded again, but his smile faltered, “Okay.”

 

He tried not to think about Viktor when he sat down for omelet as breakfast and then stationed himself at the reception desk. He swiftly dealt with the local customers as they came in and managed to check-in a couple of foreign tourists without a problem in English. In these calm hours before Viktor comes back, Yuuri felt a little bit more comfortable, as if things were back to the way they were before Phichit told him about his relationship with his childhood Russian crush. Even the van ride to the hospital with Mari was a little more upbeat than usual.

 

The positive streak went on at the doctor’s too, who told Yuuri that his ankle was healing better than they had anticipated and that he may be able to walk without the crutches much sooner than expected. Yuuri timidly confessed to the doctor that he had not been using the crutches indoors and instead of a nag, his doctor only cautioned him to refrain from strenuous activities that might put additional strain on his ankle. The doctor allowed him to carry on with daily tasks as long as he did not injure his ankles again and to come to the hospital if he did, and specifically crossed out running, jumping and skating from the list of tasks he could do. Then he added that with where Yuuri’s recovery was headed, he might be well enough to skate competitively as Japan’s champion again, if only for a while.

 

That was when the streak broke; Yuuri was reminded that even without a future of his own choosing, he needed to decide on Katsuki Yuuri’s future. He needed to fill that blank soon but he could not rely on his own opinion because he had none, and the opinions of outsiders were conflicting.

 

His doctor in Japan saw a possible chance to return to the sport but the doctor in France strongly suggested retirement. Morooka Hisashi and the Japan Skating Federation pressured him to carry on skating for the country, but his family would like him to prioritize his recovery over his career. The fans who waited for his arrival at the airport cheered for his recovery and return to the podium, but most of the fan letters he read prayed for his happy life in retirement.

 

There were so many who expect him to return to a sport he knew almost nothing about, but there was also forgiveness if he chose otherwise. Yuuri was at a loss between both choices because he would felt as guilty if he chose one over the other. For one, he had absolutely zero confidence of being able to compete at the same level as Katsuki Yuuri, and on the other hand, he would be ashamed for retiring in the champion’s stead without trying. All he could do was to buy some time to think, and time was quickly running out.

 

 _“Maybe I could ask Viktor…?”_  Yuuri thought, and returned to wait anxiously at the resort’s reception desk for his Russian coach. This time, he was sure he would be the first to start the conversation.

 

Night fell fairly quickly, and Yuuri was beginning to fear that Viktor might have left Japan while he was at the hospital. He rehearsed the conversation he planned to have with Viktor in his head again, for the twenty sixth time. Then, he heard a bark and Yuuri stood up from his chair. He was sure it was Makkachin. His eyes focused at the entrance as he waited for it to be opened by the one person he had been hoping to meet all day. The doors parted and Viktor finally walked in, and their eyes met.

 

“…!” Yuuri’s brain blanked and he nervously looked down at the ledger book on the desk. He winced at his own disability and he screamed in his mind, _“Not ‘good morning’! Not ‘welcome’! It’s… I can’t find the words!”_  

 

But there was no need for words because Viktor had already walked away while Yuuri was trying to recall the first word to the conversation he wanted to start. He stared at the retreating back and could only hate himself further for his incompetence. He bit back the tears of disappointment and a thought finally came to him, _“ ‘Hello’ would have sufficed.”_

 

Dinner seemed normal at a glance, with laughter and idle talks thrown around the dining area amongst the Katsuki family, Viktor, and the other regular customers; Yuuri was only a spectator and listener to the conversations that was going on around him but he openly eavesdropped when Mari asked about Viktor’s day. All night, he dared not try to start a conversation with him and kept his gaze down at his bowl or at his hands. He never noticed that Viktor had been staring longingly at him from across the table, as if he was waiting for something.

 

The merry atmosphere and the drunken laughter were starting to get unpleasant for Yuuri, and he quietly excused himself to seek silent refuge in his room. He knew Viktor was shadowing him again as he took one step at a time up the stairs but neither of them spoke a word. Yuuri’s mind told him that it was the perfect chance to wish Viktor “good night” and he tried to gather his courage to speak, but he could not find his voice again as soon as they reached Viktor’s doors. He kept his head down and continued shamefully towards his room but a tug stopped him.

 

Makkachin whined. Yuuri turned back to him and the poodle nudged his hand with his nose, and then returned to sit beside Viktor’s legs. He barked at Yuuri to join them, but Yuuri was unable to lift his head to meet the Russian’s piercing gaze. He shuddered when he recalled how vulnerable Viktor had made him feel at this exact spot just one day ago, and Yuuri finally realized that he was terrified of the man he longed for.

 

“Yuuri,” Viktor called, and Yuuri flinched when he heard the subtle anger in his voice. He knew he could not master his own voice to answer anything Viktor would ask, so he didn’t wait and chose to run away like a coward, and shut the door behind him.

 

Viktor could do nothing except to stare at the closed door with his fists clenched in anger at himself. He regretted the way he had confronted Yuuri, but in the heat of that moment, he felt that he had a right to seek answers for being treated with indifference. He only had one goal in coming to Japan; he needed Yuuri to fill in the emptiness he had been feeling, but he had only pushed Yuuri further away from him in his desperation. It was too late when he realized that his Japanese lover was as precious as he was fragile. Even his apology went unanswered but he decided to wait, even though his own time was not unlimited.

 

Frustration only grew in the days after as hope toyed with Viktor. It made Viktor take notice of Yuuri’s body language, and whenever he thought Yuuri seemed as if he wanted to speak to him, he put on his usual cheerfully fake smile but the dark haired beauty would then turn away and ignored him again at the last second. When it seemed hopeless, Viktor would catch Yuuri staring at him, and their eyes would meet briefly because Yuuri would always be the first one to break the contact and fidget uncomfortably in his seat. When the atmosphere was comfortable, he would sometimes see Yuuri flashed him a tiny smile before he looked away again, but all it did was to keep his false hope alive. And Viktor was already beginning to fear rejection.

 

He consciously distanced himself from Yuuri by spending longer hours away from the hot springs resort. Viktor started his day earlier, before Yuuri woke up, and jogged to Ice Castle Hasetsu for practice. Once there, he threw himself onto the ice for hours and took breaks in-between his practice at nearby cafes. When evening fell, he would delay his return to the resort and took brisk walks around the seaside town to explore and discover secluded restaurants and bars where he could stay late into the night. He only returned after it was past the time Yuuri usually went to bed, and he would stare at the wooden door at the end of the corridor, silently hoping that he might catch Yuuri by coincident; even though he was the one who avoided him this time around.

 

When fans crowded Ice Castle Hasetsu and disrupted his practice to drown him in Valentine’s Day chocolates, Viktor only thought of Yuuri as he shook hands, signed autographs, and flashed charming smiles at swooning girls, women, and even boys and men who approached him. He received numerous love confessions throughout the day even though they clearly knew he and Yuuri were together. Viktor thank them for their love and support, but never mention about the status of their relationship now that it was in limbo after both their amnesia.

 

If he were to accept a confession, he would prefer it to come from Yuuri himself, but to hear a confession of love after what he had done was almost like a fantasy. All he was allowed to ask for was forgiveness and a chance to start over with Yuuri; but Yuuri never spoke a word to him, and left him with indecipherable gentle smiles. His desperation for an answer swelled every day and he realized that he would never get a clear answer if he stayed away just as Yuuri wished. He decided then that he would quit waiting and knock on Yuuri’s door tonight with a gift in hand, as a token of his love, and with a silent prayer that he would accept it.

 

Viktor ended his Valentine’s Day practice session early to help pack up the chocolates that took up half the floor of locker room into boxes. He felt embarrassed and apologetic to have caused trouble for the employees at Ice Castle Hasetsu throughout the whole day, and for personally requesting Yuuko’s help to donate the chocolates in his stead. She smiled happily at him, understanding that he could not possibly eat all the chocolate and admired his charitable heart to have them donated to orphanages and kindergartens.

 

“Here, I’ve packed up the fan letters and gifts in this bag,” Yuuko handed Viktor a large shopping bag with its content neatly packed to the brim, and then another similar sized shopping bag, “And here are some chocolates that seemed like they were handmade. I thought you should have them.”

 

“Thank you,” Viktor smiled and accepted the two bags, “I hope you saved some for your daughters.”

 

“Oh, don’t you worry about my girls,” Yuuko laughed and pushed him out of the main entrance, “Now, off you go. Good luck with Yuuri!”

 

Viktor did not ask why she brought up Yuuri’s name then but he turned back to smile at her before he walked down the path towards home, to Yuuri. Despite feeling the weight of his fans’ unrequited love in both his arms, his heart was light as he looked up at the orange sky and took in a cold and deep breath. Winter was almost coming to an end and spring would be here soon, and Viktor hoped the new season would bring a new episode into his life; one with Yuuri in it.

 

Mari greeted him as soon as Viktor stepped through the entrance and quickly reached out to help him with his bags, but he politely declined her help with a shake of his head and an optimistic smile. His eyes darted around the resort, looking for his special someone as he said, “I need to get something from my room anyway.”

 

“Yuuri is in his room with Makkachin,” Mari told him, with a smirk on her face.

 

Viktor faked a cough to cover up the smile that was creeping onto his face; then he nodded gratefully at her before he turned around to make his way towards the stairs. Upon reaching the upper floor, he took a turn around the corner and down a familiar corridor; his heart stopped when he saw a box of chocolate lying outside his door. A white square box measuring about 20 centimeters by 20 centimeters and about one-inch in height, tied with blue ribbons. It was the box of chocolates he had bought for Yuuri. He set down his bags onto the floor with a soft thud.

 

 _“Why is this out here? How?”_ Viktor wondered as he picked up the white box. His mind raced, _“Did Makkachin take this out of the room? And did Yuuri find this and returned it as a lost item? But I wrote-”_

 

He flipped to the back of the box and found the message he wrote to have vanished. In disbelief, he flipped to the front again, and finally noticed that his name was written on the card that was hanging from the ribbon. His hands trembled as he held the bottom of the card and beneath his fingers was the name “Yuuri”. Still doubting his eyes, he slid his door open and immediately spotted a box of chocolates in the exact white box and blue ribbon sitting on top of his drawers. A smile grew on Viktor’s face when he was finally convinced that the gift in his hand was from Yuuri, given to him on Valentine’s Day; and it could only have one meaning: **_love_**.

 

His smile widened when he heard Makkachin barked from inside Yuuri’s room and then scratched at the closed door. A few long seconds later, the door Viktor had been staring at every night finally opened, and there Yuuri stood with a smile on his face. He didn’t care if the smile was a reaction to Makkachin’s silliness; Yuuri looked charming with it and Viktor could feel his heart overflowed with so much love for him that he couldn’t stop himself from walking forward and kissed those soft lips. His arms circled around Yuuri’s supple waist to pull him closer and when he began to feel Yuuri reciprocating his feelings, he deepened the kiss. The chaste kiss quickly turned heated and intense as it grew desperate with lust and desire, but just as suddenly as it began, Yuuri pulled away.

 

 _“I’m not him,”_ the guilt resurfaced again as Yuuri’s brain spun from registering the passionate kiss he had just shared with his crush. He could still feel the lingering warmth and moist on his lips, but instead of selfishly giving in to take the love that was falsely given to him, he only said, “I’m sorry.”

 

“You’re sorry?” Viktor repeated and his heart sank when Yuuri looked away. He held up the box in his hand and asked, “Then what is the meaning of this?”

 

“Ah- oh, um, nothing,” Yuuri stuttered as he lied, “Obligatory chocolates. For Valentine’s Day.” Viktor became silent, and Yuuri tried to explain his Valentine’s gift to fill the awkward silence between them, “It’s like, for gratitude, for friendship. I got chocolates for everyone too. And, um, I’m sorry I left it outside your room. I didn’t know what time you would be back, and you seemed so busy lately, but ah, I should have waited to hand it to you.”

 

Even after spewing excuses and lies, Viktor only stared at him without a word. Yuuri noticed the two shopping bags full of chocolates and gifts at the corridor and he was suddenly aware of Viktor’s status as a celebrity athlete. He said nervously, “I-I’m sure you’ve received a lot of chocolates from your fans. It’s alright if you don’t want mine. I can take it back. It’s just obligatory chocolates anyway. No hard feelings.”

 

But as he reached for the gift in Viktor’s hand, it disappeared from his reach. Yuuri flinched and looked up, partly in fear and partly out of curiousity. There was hurt in Viktor’s eyes as he said bitterly, “This was given to me, and I’m keeping it.”

 

This time, it was Yuuri who had gone silent but he wanted to ask, _“Why?”_

 

“You can’t do this to me, Yuuri,” Viktor said, “You can’t give me hope and then take it away so swiftly.” But Yuuri only stared at him, questioning the meaning behind his words with innocently glistening brown eyes. Viktor took a step back and laughed in disbelief, “Was it fun, torturing me for the past two weeks?”

 

“…wha…?” Yuuri gasped.

 

“I’ve waited far too long,” he continued, “I’ve been patient to the point where I could feel myself breaking, Yuuri. How long do I have to wait until you are willing to talk to me? What should I do to earn your forgiveness?”

 

“…what… are you talking about?” Yuuri asked, his voice quivered in doubt.

 

“Have you forgotten?” Viktor asked, “What I said that day…?”

 

“That day?” Yuuri began to panic, “Viktor, I haven’t spoken to you since- that day, right here.”

 

“That’s right,” he told him, “I apologized but you wouldn’t open the door. I told you I’d wait until you do, and you let me wait, for hours.” Yuuri listened intently, trying to recall this conversation he had with Viktor. “I intentionally left, to see if you would come out of your room, and you did,” Viktor continued and his voice broke, “Knowing that you didn’t want to see me hurts, Yuuri.” 

 

“Viktor, I…” Yuuri stopped. He could not find the words to tell Viktor that he had no memory of what happened after he shut the door up until Mari came knocking. He did not remember a word that was said except feeling himself curled on the floor of his room in fear until he blacked out.

 

“Are you going to say that you’ve conveniently lost the memory of that conversation?” he asked and then added, “Are you going to tell me that you’ve forgotten how you shouted at me to ‘go away’ too?”

 

“Viktor, please… I’m…” Yuuri tried to reason as his breaths quickened at the realization that he was losing his new memories. He could only repeat his earlier words, “I’m sorry…”

 

“Don’t apologize to me, Yuuri,” he said, his voice got slightly louder, “I am the one apologizing, and you haven’t accepted it.” Viktor breathed deeply to control his anger, “Tell me, why wouldn’t you speak to me?”

 

“I… don’t know how to,” Yuuri admitted softly, “I… don’t know where to start.”

 

“Is it THAT hard to open your mouth!?” Viktor raised his voice, and grabbed Yuuri by the shoulders, “Yuuri!”

 

“You avoided me!” Yuuri replied, anger and fear mixed into his trembling voice.

 

“No! YOU shut ME out first!” he countered as he dug his fingers into Yuuri’s shoulders, “I waited for you to come to me!”

 

“I tried!” Yuuri told him and struggled to free himself from Viktor’s grip. He held back his tears as he drew deep breaths to recompose himself, and carefully stepped backwards into his room. Yuuri knew there was no use in explaining himself but he did so anyway, “Every time I see you, I wanted to speak to you but every time, the words just…” He lost the word and instead, he clasped lightly at his throat. Yuuri collected himself again and continued, “When I finally thought I was ready to talk to you, I didn’t get the chance to bump into you anywhere. Then I realized that you were avoiding me, and I couldn’t bring myself to knock on your door.”

 

Viktor listened and finally understood that Yuuri had longed for him in the same way he longed to hear his voice. He regretted how he selfishly wallowed in disappointment every time Yuuri turned away from him when he should have realized how timid Yuuri was, and reached out to him instead. If he had been calmer and more persistent in his pursuit from the beginning, then he would never have let the doubt fester in the darkest corner of his mind; because every time he ignored its whispers, Viktor could feel it grow a little stronger. Now, he could no longer deny its screams of a doomed relationship as he finally admitted to himself that they had both failed to communicate even as strangers.

 

“This really isn’t working out between us, is it?” Viktor asked hopelessly, and he felt Yuuri slipped further away when he shifted his gaze downwards in silence. “I thought so too,” he nodded to himself and sighed, “Our conversations had always been one-sided or end up in raised voices. But now, I can understand why you don’t want anything to do with me. I dragged you out of your room as soon as I arrived, and brought you out to the rink without considering your feelings. Then I demanded for your attention.” Viktor then scoffed at himself, “You were trying to tell me that I’m not welcomed all along, weren’t you? I finally understand now. I’ll leave.”

 

Yuuri’s breath got caught in his throat and looked up, _“No!”_

 

“I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me someday, for what happened here the other day,” Viktor said monotonously and walked away.

 

 _“Stay!”_ Yuuri’s body took a step forward on its own, but he stopped to scold himself, _“What am I thinking?_ _I can’t make him stay. The one he wants is Katsuki Yuuri, not me. I’m not him.”_ He gazed at his empty doorway, hoping that Viktor was somehow there to hear him, and he said softly to him, “I’m sorry, Viktor. I can lie to everyone that I am Katsuki Yuuri, but not to you. I only want you to see me, for who I am now.”

 

Through the thin wall separating their rooms, Yuuri could hear the sound of drawers being opened one after another, and then the clatter of items being chucked onto the floor or into bags. He even overheard Viktor’s conversation on the phone in Russian and he thought he could understand one phrase, “I’m coming home”. Hearing that made Yuuri desperately wanted to undo everything he had done since the day Viktor arrived; to start over with him again, with a little more courage and honesty, but there was no turning back time now. There could be no regrets in words left unsaid, and apologies not exchanged.

 

Yuuri suppressed his feelings deeper within himself when Viktor announced his return to Russia during dinner to the Katsuki household. There were gasps at first, and then there were pleas and questions. But Viktor never told them the truth; he merely mentioned that Yakov wanted him back urgently and laughed it off. Everyone was dismayed to let him go but decided to celebrate his final night in Hasetsu and brought out more beer and sake. Throughout night, no one noticed that Yuuri had kept up his pretense while he struggled internally and failed to summon his voice to admit his own wrongdoing.

 

As the minutes ticked closer to the morning of Viktor’s departure, Yuuri admitted to his own cowardice after standing outside the Russian’s room all night and still could not work up the courage to knock or to apologize. He finally turned away just seconds before Viktor’s alarm rang, and he sighed in relief that he had already made it to the stairs; otherwise, Viktor might have seen him standing outside the room like a creepy stalker. Yuuri shook that thought out of his mind as he joined his mother at the kitchen. He smiled and silently lent her a hand with breakfast preparation.

 

Katsudon was served just as Viktor sat at the table, and a smile almost made its way onto Yuuri’s face when he saw how fervently Viktor ate the rice bowl; the one he cooked. But he quickly looked away and poked into his boiled broccolis when those blue eyes looked back at him. He reasoned with himself that this was enough; words could be left unsaid if he could at least do one thing right before Viktor returns to Russia.

 

Hugs and farewells were exchanged later at the entrance, but Yuuri lagged behind the group and watched on as his family and friends took turns to bid him well with tears in their eyes. His parents had sound advice for his health; Mari told him to come back soon; Minako said she would be waiting to drink with him again; Nishigori couple wished him luck in the Worlds while the Nishigori triplets vowed to stalk him over the Internet; but Yuuri was still speechless even as everyone else had left to give the two of them some privacy.

 

“Do you have something you want to say to me?” Viktor asked, with the knowledge that Yuuri had been hesitating outside his room all night. As he waited, he noticed for the first time just how much Yuuri had changed since the day he arrived in Japan. He had lost the roundness that Viktor did not know he was unconsciously fond of, and there were days’ worth of dark circles under his brown eyes. His mind dared to hope, _“Tell me to stay.”_

 

 _“Stay,”_ but all that came out of Yuuri was, “… take care.”

 

“I will,” Viktor’s smile tightened and he said, “Good bye, Yuuri.”

 

 _“Please stay!”_ but no words came out of him, not even tears. He could only watch Viktor turned away and got into the awaiting taxi. His eyes was fixated to the back of the yellow taxi that grew smaller as it drove away before it finally disappeared from sight.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Arigatou gozaimasu = Thank you very much
> 
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	6. To Find You, Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey!! An update in time for Yuuri's birthday!!!
> 
> Trigger warning: depression, self-harm, attempted suicide

 

Viktor was gone and he was never coming back; Yuuri was sure of it. He flew all the way from Russia to find the Grand Prix Final gold medalist, Katsuki Yuuri, but what he found in Hasetsu was the leftover shell of a person, who went by the identity of the man he sought after. There was no reason for him to stay, and that was why he left.

 

_“No,”_ Yuuri shook his head and whispered in his mind, _“I made him leave.”_ He admitted it to himself but by accepting the reality of his inactions, Yuuri became aware of the presence of a widening void in his heart. He clutched at the front of his shirt, as if he was trying to pull the edges of the void in a vain attempt to close it, and to keep his despair and hopelessness from flowing out.

 

“Mari, is there anything I can help you with?” Yuuri asked as he looked into Viktor’s room. Mari was already in the midst of tidying up the room but strangely, she did not remove anything and seemed intent on keeping the room as it is.

 

“Hm? No, I’m almost done here,” Mari said and walked closer to him. She asked, “Was that alright?”

 

“What was?” he asked, perplexed. His sister sighed heavily, and Yuuri understood what she meant when her brown eyes stared back at him.

 

“I heard raised voices yesterday,” Mari began with caution, “I got worried but I didn’t mean to pry. Yuuri, didn’t you have something to say to Viktor? Something important?”

 

_“I do,”_ Yuuri wished he could answer honestly, but he needed to keep his head leveled lest he spiraled into another panic attack. He shook his head and calmly replied, “I think we’re better apart. We don’t even remember each other. Can’t force two strangers together and hope to have a future, right?”

 

_“Everyone is a stranger to me here. That’s why I can imagine how it might go with Viktor,”_ Yuuri wished he could add, but he held his tongue.

 

“Yuuri,” Mari hugged him, “You have your photo album. Everything you and Viktor need to know is in there. You may not remember it now, but someday, you will remember; and so will Viktor. Then he will come running back here again. I can bet a whole month’s worth of cigarettes on it. Besides, it didn’t seem like Viktor is completely cutting you off. He could be waiting for you to contact him.”

 

_“It’s too late, Mari,”_ Yuuri kept his silence, _“I’ve messed up whatever chance I had to make him stay.”_

 

“Oh!” Mari released her hold on Yuuri to walk over to the drawers, and she returned with the two items Viktor had most probably left for Yuuri; a white box of chocolate with blue ribbons, and a small dark blue gift box.

 

Yuuri took them into his hands and his heart clenched at the sight of the box of chocolate. He recalled the days of struggling on a crutch from shop to shop in a poor disguise, and going out of his way to avoid lovesick schoolgirls and ladies as he awkwardly searched for the best Valentine’s Day gift for Viktor. Just when he was about to despair at finding nothing suitable for the greatest figure skater in the world, he accidentally took a wrong turn home and wandered down a quiet lane, and found an obscure little chocolatier that allowed him to pick and choose from dozens of handcrafted chocolates into a box of his choosing, tied with a ribbon of his choice. It was the perfect customized gift for Viktor, and Yuuri could not hide his smile on the way home.

 

_“He said he’d keep it,”_ Yuuri bit his lips and felt his effort thrown into the sea, _“Liar.”_

 

Mari noticed how his facial expression changed the moment he saw the gifts and her heart broke for him. She knew at once that the gifts meant something to him but she could not bring herself to ask while he was overwhelmed with emotions. For now, she could only guess its significance from both Viktor’s and Yuuri’s reactions; that it meant something that could link their past and future together.

 

“Did he say anything?” Yuuri asked, and she could hear his voice quivered slightly.

 

“No,” Mari told him, “He only left these here.”

 

“I see,” he nodded slightly but he never looked up, “I’ll go put this away.”

 

As soon as Yuuri escaped into his room and shut the door behind him, his hand reached up to remove his half blue-rimmed glasses and rubbed his sleeve harshly on his eyes. He held back a choke as he told himself, _“I shouldn’t feel so disappointed if I’m the one who rejected him. I don’t have the right to this sort of feelings… stop… go away!”_

 

Something fell from atop the box of chocolate in his other hand. Yuuri looked down onto the floor and stared at the square gift box that he now realized could only be a ring box. He froze, and then stepped away from it, as if it was a cursed object. He was beginning to breathe heavily when he bumped into a hard surface and in his panic to push away the threat, he accidentally swiped items off his desk. Pens and pencils clattered onto the floor as his thick photo album landed with a hard thud, and photos flew out of a brown envelope Phichit left for him.

 

“Yuuri? Is everything alright?” he could hear Mari’s voice from Viktor’s room.

 

“Y-yeah,” Yuuri answered quickly, “I-I just knocked something down. Sorry.”

 

“Okay,” she sound contented with his answer, and Yuuri sighed with temporary relief.

 

There was only a little cleanup to do but all he wanted at this moment was to be away from his room, from his safe haven; because he could feel himself suffocate from being literally surrounded by items and memories of a life he could not remember, and a future he was too afraid to accept. Yuuri saw, to his misery, that escape was impossible as Viktor’s small gift lie between him and the door. In defeat, he set aside the chocolate on his desk and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. Then he slowly and carefully went down on his knees to pick up his stationery first, then his abandoned photo album assignment, and returned to gather the loose photographs.

 

Yuuri never looked into the envelope before, so he decided to stall and sat on the floor to sift through the photographs for the first time. He knew Phichit must have specifically kept these photographs separate because every piece was of him and Viktor only, and in every photograph they both emitted happiness beyond words that even Yuuri was feeling overwhelmed with a strange sense of nostalgia just by looking at their smiles.

 

_“I need to thank Phichit,”_ he thought to himself when he noticed that behind every piece of photograph was a date and place, scribbled in a hurry. _“Ah, that’s right. I never took a photo with Viktor,”_ Yuuri realized and sighed, _“I probably never will.”_

 

He stopped at a photograph of them kissing while holding up a heart with their hands in the foreground. Jealousy rose up in his heart but there was no hatred for this Yuuri of the past, only a wish that he could turn back time so he could do things differently and perhaps get a chance to take a photograph like this with Viktor. He wished he could smile this brightly in his lover’s presence, with utter bliss and happiness in life. His finger slid down the side of the photograph in a longing stroke, and stopped abruptly. He thought he felt a twinge, and lifted his finger to stare as a red line slowly formed on the tip of his finger. It grew thicker and the blood slowly gathered into a drop.

 

It was a tiny cut, but Yuuri noticed more than that; his attention was instantly drawn away from every thought he had and he found himself feeling only the pain. He pressed into the cut with his thumb and the pain intensified as his relief grew. It was a temporary high and he finally was able to escape his chaotic mind. Yuuri’s thumb pressed harder and a faint smile appeared on his face, as did his tears, when he realized that he could escape everything now, including the thoughts of Viktor, by inflicting pain on himself. He thought he finally found salvation; and just as how he could numb his mind to those unwanted thoughts of the Russian man, he chose to overlook the little gift box on the floor and never picked it up.

 

Both Mari and his mother were worried when they saw the wound on his finger. While Mari disinfected and bandaged it, his mother asked questions and made a huge fuss about his little cut, but he only told her half the truth; that he did not realize he had cut himself until much later. That was when he learned quickly that he needed to hide the cuts and his only method of relief from his family.

 

The days grew to seem shorter for Yuuri as his ankle healed; he found himself to be less than a burden to his family without a crutch as he took over the cleaning duties around the gardens in the mornings, and scrubbed the floors of the bathrooms and hot spring at the end of the day. During the afternoon, he kept himself busy with the accountings, and also looking up traveling sites to promote their humble little hot springs resort. Yuuri did everything he could to distract himself from thinking about Viktor, and when there was nothing for him to work on, he would go out for a stroll. But he did not want to let his family worry about him for taking long midnight walks due to his insomnia, so he sought solace with a penknife to his thighs in the darkness of his room.  

 

“Yuuri? Have you been sleeping well?” Mari tapped on his shoulder one afternoon as she placed a cup of green tea beside his hand. Yuuri looked up from the reception desk and smiled faintly at her.

 

“No, not really,” he admitted, knowing he could not lie about the prominent dark circles under his eyes.

 

“Here, I got some sleeping pills for you,” she put a bottle of pills on the table, “Take one pill at your usual bed time, or whenever you’re sure you have at least 4 hours of bedtime left, otherwise you’d be sleep-walking during the day.” She snickered but reminded him seriously, “If you need to talk, I’m here, alright?”

 

“Yeah, I know,” Yuuri said to her, “Thank you, Mari.” Long after Mari had walked away, he turned the white bottle around and idly read the chemical compositions without any intention of relying on it; because he felt that he did not need them even though he was suffering from sleepless nights. He felt far from tired, and he would rather stay awake than have nightmares he could not escape from.

 

The increasingly loud clicks of heels alerted Yuuri from his thoughts, and then a familiar voiced shouted as soon as the doors were slid open, “YUURI!!”

 

“Good morning, Minako,” he greeted her.

 

“Tell me you’re going to Saitama!” she reached into the reception window and grabbed Yuuri by the shirt.

 

“E-eh? What? Why?” he was puzzled.

 

“The Worlds!!!!” Minako squealed, “Viktor is coming for the gold!!”

 

_“Viktor? In Japan?”_  his mind swirled and he was back into his own little world, _“I’m not going!”_

 

“Mari! Are you coming? I’m booking the flight tickets and hotel rooms!” Minako yelled into the lobby.

 

Mari appeared seconds later and replied, “Yeah, sure. I’m in. We just need to get some stuff prepared for Mom and Dad before we leave, right Yuuri?”

 

“We?” Yuuri dreaded the confirmation as his mind screamed, _“I need to say ‘no’.”_ Mari nodded and stared straight into his eyes, waiting for an answer. He found himself stuttered, “Y-Yeah.”

 

“Perfect!” Minako exclaimed and proceeded to make plans with Mari, “We can share a room as usual, and Yuuri can have a single room.”

 

_“WHY did I say that?”_ Yuuri scolded himself, but could not find a suitable moment to barge into the conversation to make an excuse that he had immediately changed his mind. As he listened to the two women making arrangements and counted down to the days to the Worlds Figure Skating Championship at Saitama, Japan, Yuuri panicked, _“Oh no. What should I do? They’ve already made plans. They’ve already paid for the tickets. I’m spending Katsuki Yuuri’s hard-earned money, and I don’t even want to go!”_

 

At night, Yuuri found himself pacing restlessly in his room as he tried to think of a way out of the trip while avoiding a patch on the floor where Viktor’s gift still lay. Numerous times, he would walk around the box, or side stepped away from it, and did his best to not look down at the box. He thought he would become sick if he picked up the box. He stopped, _“That’s right! I can pretend to fall sick just before we leave! Right! Then I won’t have to go to Saitama… and I won’t see Viktor again… but… I want to watch him skate in front of my eyes. Aaaaaaah!!!!”_

 

_“What am I doing here?”_ Yuuri repeatedly asked himself every time he found himself in a new place. He was sure he had made up his mind to tell Mari that he was not feeling well that morning, but instead he found himself waving to his parents at the resort’s entrance and then turned to trail behind the two ladies and boarded a bus that took them to the Fukuoka Airport. It was as if he was not in control of his own body and when he finally was able to convince his mind to turn back for home, Yuuri realized that they had already arrived at their hotel in Saitama. He sighed and admitted his defeat, _“What… am I doing here?”_

 

Both Minako and Mari were adamant in going to the stadium every day and they dragged a very reluctant Yuuri along. On the first day of practice, Yuuri pulled away from the two women and tried to look out for silver hair among the sea of foreigners and locals in the lobby, but the task quickly became impossible when a large crowd of sports journalists and fans tried to drown him with questions he had no answers to.

 

“Will you be competing in the Worlds?” a female voice asked, “What about the Grand Prix series?”

 

“We heard rumour of your retirement. Is it true?” another male voice shouted.

 

“Where’s Viktor? Have you broken up with him!?” a female fan asked with glee.

 

His personal space was gone as Yuuri felt dozens of cameras, microphones and recorders being shoved close to his face. It was all too overwhelming for him to stand alone in front of so many people at once. His head darted from one voice to another in a panic, and there was not even a brief moment of silence for him to give an answer, if he had any. Yuuri ended up keeping his eyes to the floor as he concentrated his attention on his breathing and bit his lips to stop himself from screaming.

 

“Mr. Katsuki is only here to enjoy the Worlds FSC as a spectator,” a voice broke through the crowd. Everyone immediately turned to the owner of the voice and parted a way to let him through. The tall Japanese man gave Yuuri a smile and a nod before he turned to shield Yuuri from the journalists. He greeted the crowd, “Hello. I’m Morooka Hisashi from the Japanese Skating Federation. I’ll be taking your questions instead.”

 

“Hisashi,” Yuuri sighed with relief as he called his name and stood beside him. He knew Hisashi was better suited to answer the crowd, but he also realized that there was no escape until the impromptu question and answer session ended. In this time of weakness, Yuuri recalled how Hisashi had mentored him to keep his chin up in front of journalists, and so he tried to stay calm as he prayed for the session to be over quickly.

 

As soon as the crowd was satisfied with half-truths and vague answers, it quickly dispersed. Yuuri was able to breathe normally again and he turned to thank Hisashi for coming to his rescue, “If you hadn’t come, I don’t know what I would have said.”

 

“We have not told anyone about your memory loss, Mr. Katsuki,” he smiled at Yuuri, then he seemed to remember something and checked his watch. He panicked seeing the time and exclaimed, “I’m sorry! I’d love to stay to chat, but I’m running late for a meeting with the organizers! See you around!”

 

Yuuri waved as Hisashi took quick steps away from him with a smile. When the man had vanished from his sight, Yuuri cautiously looked around the busy lobby and zipped his dark blue jacket all the way up to hide half of his face. He thought now was a good chance to steal his way back to the rink without anyone noticing, and he kept his head low even as he sat in the stadium. He could hear the skaters practice on the rink and there were murmurs and excited squeals in the air. It was still making his head spin to the point where he failed to notice that someone had sat down beside him.

 

“Hiya, Yuuri!” a cheerful voice called out to him.

 

“Wha-!” Yuuri flinched away from him and looked at the smiling face of a Thai boy, “Phi-Phichit!”  

 

“Mari said they lost you a moment ago, but I’m so glad you are here!” he laughed, “Minami has been bugging me about you!”

 

“…r-right,” he stuttered and wondered who Phichit was referring to.

 

“He is your junior and a big fan of yours,” he said and tried to describe him, “The one with blonde hair and a tuft of red at the front?” Yuuri recalled seeing a younger boy who fit that description in a few of the photographs in his album, and Phichit knew that he recalled which one was Minami. He added, “I bet he’ll be ecstatic to know you’re here.”

 

“I-I see,” Yuuri nodded, still unsure about how he should talk to Phichit. The Thai boy was sporting a bright smile on his face, but Yuuri couldn’t help but be afraid of asking if he was angry at him for not bidding goodbye on the morning he left, and for never replying to any of his messages since then. _“I need to apologize,”_ Yuuri reminded himself, _“And thank him for the photographs.”_

 

“Yuuri, are you still mad at me?” Phichit asked and his face turned sad. He continued, “I’m so sorry. I should have broken the news to you more gently, or at least phrased it better. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

 

_“Why are you apologizing? I should be the one to say sorry,”_ Yuuri stared at his friend. He took a deep breath and began, “Phichit, I-”

 

“Yuuri! Phichit! We’re going to grab lunch together! Coming?” Minako and Mari waved at them from all the way down by the rink. Yuuri stared at the group of men around them; there were five other figure skaters that he recognized from the photographs taken during Katsuki Yuuri’s career as a competitive figure skater. He tried to put a name to their faces.

 

There was a tall and tanned foreign man, Leo de la Iglesia from the Unites States; a shorter and timid-looking young man, Ji Guang-Hong from China; a petite young man with blonde hair and streaks of red, Minami Kenjirou from Japan; a muscular Middle Eastern man with short dark hair, Otabek Altin from Kazakhstan; and a tall blonde, Yuri Plisetsky from Russia.

 

_“That’s… the Russian Yuri,”_ Yuuri thought of the photographs of him in the hot springs, when he was 15 years old. He seemed much taller now but his body was still as slim and his limbs were long, _“He looked so grown up.”_

 

“YUURI!!!” Minami frantically waved and jumped for his attention. Seeing how excited his junior was, Yuuri felt compelled to respond and so he nervously waved back at him with a very stiff smile. He froze almost immediately when an icy glare shot through him.

 

_“Why is Russian Yuri angry at me?”_ Yuuri cowered as his eyes met green eyes, _“Oh nooo. He’s coming this way.”_

 

Yuri Plisetsky took long strides up the stairs by the stadium seats and he was dead set on cornering Yuuri for information from the look of his outrageously scrutinizing eyes. Since Viktor’s return from Japan, he barely spoke to anyone and was never in the mood to talk about Yuuri or Japan; he only silently brooded as he threw all of his time into practice, but never making improvement. Worst of all, Yuri noticed that Viktor was back to living in that blasted rented apartment, instead of their home. He did not have to be a genius to know that something had happened between Viktor and Yuuri for the idiot to fly back to Russia a day after Valentine’s Day.

 

“What… the… hell…!” Yuri furiously stomped a foot on the seat beside Yuuri and towered over him with a scowl. The Katsuki Yuuri before him looked exactly the same, but felt completely different; he was shuddering on his seat in fear and seemed so much more whiny and helpless than the figure skater who sobbed after his defeat in the toilet stall years ago. But Yuri was not about to cut the Japanese any slack just because they were as close as family.  

 

“Oi, pig,” he seethed, “Spill.”

 

“Now, now, Yurio,” Phichit tried to intervene, “No need to interrogate Yuuri like that! Let’s go for lunch! Then you can ask him anything you want over something sweet. Right, Yuuri?”

 

“…A-Actually, I’m not feeling very well,” Yuuri stuttered, “I was actually gonna tell Mari– whoa!” He could not finish his sentence as the Russian punk had grabbed the front of his jacket and pulled him closer, until their faces were only inches apart.

 

“I said, SPILL,” his voice was full of rage as he spit out every word of his next sentence, “What did you say to Viktor?”

 

“What did I…” Yuuri’s mind raced back to the day he had planned to confess his love to Viktor; Valentine’s Day. But every word he spoke was not what he had intended to tell, and every word he wanted to convey was left unsaid. So he lied, “…nothing.”

 

“Tch!” Yuri clicked his tongue in disbelief, “As if I’d believe that.”  

 

_“I said nothing to correct Viktor when he came to his own conclusion about my inaction and unspoken words,”_ Yuuri wanted to explain but his voice was trapped in his throat. The Russian saw in Yuuri’s eyes that he had more to tell him, and he waited, because he understood how it was sometimes hard for Yuuri to say what was on his mind. But Yuuri never got the words out.

 

“Okay! Okay! Time out!” Phichit exclaimed cheerfully and put his hands firmly on Yuri’s arms, “Let’s go get lunch, okay?”

 

“Hmph!” Yuri scoffed as he straightened up, “Listen, pig. Viktor needs to get the gold medal. And if he doesn’t, I’m pinning that failure on you.” He stared down into those brown eyes and made sure he got his message across as he said, “Viktor needs your support here. You’d better give it to him.”

 

Yuuri could only nod despite the voice in his mind screaming, _“What can I do for him!? I’m not needed!”_

 

A buzz rang in Yuri’s pocket, and he pulled out his mobile phone to read the message. He looked back at Yuuri and said, “Viktor has just landed in Narita Airport and is on his way here.” Then he let out an exasperated sigh, “Can you believe it? We had a layover at Moscow on our way to Tokyo and that idiot suddenly told us he forgotten something very important at home and flew right back to Saint Petersburg for it! Unbelievable! What a waste of money! And not to mention, he left his entire luggage with us! Ugh!”

 

“That sounds just like Viktor!” Phichit laughed.

 

“Come on, you guys! LUNCH!” Minako shouted and pointed to the door to indicate where they should meet up.

 

“OKAY!” Phichit waved back and turned to give Yuuri a hand, “Come on! Let’s go!”

 

Yuuri stared at the tanned hand and recalled that Phichit had picked up a new habit of being a literal supportive friend during his stay in Hasetsu as Yuuri used to need support whenever he wanted to stand up on his healing ankle. But that was no longer the case now and Yuuri managed to stand up by himself just fine. He turned to flash a smile at Phichit, and to tell him that he had completely healed, but the younger man had already rushed up to pull him into a tight hug.

 

“Yuuri! I’m so glad you’ve recovered!!” Phichit exclaimed with a huge grin, “Are you going to come back onto the ice?”

 

“Ah… about that,” Yuuri hesitated and revisited his disappointment, _“Right. There’s that too.”_ He nervously laughed and answered, “I don’t know.”

 

“Just retire already, you old pig!” Yuri said and walked away towards the lunch group, and towards the awaiting Otabek, who lingered at the back of the group. “What?” he shot at Otabek, “I told him what I said I would, didn’t I?”

 

“That didn’t look like the proper way to say it,” Otabek commented, “He’d think you hate him.”

 

“…shut up,” Yuri turned away to hide the disappointment on his face. After the shock from Viktor nearly not recognizing him, Yuri had to mentally brace himself for another rejection in Japan but when he looked into Yuuri’s eyes and saw no recognition in them, it still dealt a devastating blow to his heart.

 

Up the stairs, away from the group, Phichit shook his head and turned to Yuuri, “Don’t mind him. He is always like that.”

 

“…old…” Yuuri sighed at the word, “I’m supposed to be only 26…”

 

Phichit laughed as he pulled him towards the door, “Yuuri, you ARE old if we are to talk about age in this sport. Chris and Georgi have both retired now. Even Celestino has been bugging me to up my game or consider retirement too! And I’m only 23!”

 

“What about Viktor?” he asked.

 

“Viktor is just being abnormal,” he answered, “He is the living legend after all, so I guess he wants to stay on top for as long as he could. Honestly, he is ancient, and should have retired years ago.” Phichit slowed down and turned back to him with a sad smile as he reminisced, “But he seemed to be forcing himself to do better every year. It was as if there was something other than his love for skating and competing with you that kept him on the ice. Do you know anything about that, Yuuri?”

 

“Huh? I… uh, don’t remember,” Yuuri confessed, “And, we didn’t really talk when he came to Hasetsu.”

 

“Did something happen between you and Viktor?” Phichit dared to ask, “Was it something I said before I left?”

 

Yuuri shook his head and told him honestly, “No. It’s my fault, Phichit. I didn’t talk to him, properly, and I pushed him away.”

 

“Yuuri,” he held his hands firmly, “If there’s anything I can do for you, tell me.”

 

“Thanks,” Yuuri smiled at him, “And it’s a little late but, thank you for the photographs.”

 

Phichit’s smile widened and he nodded, “No problem!”

 

When the two of them met up with the group, Yuuri excused himself from lunch, much to the disappointment of everyone present, except maybe the Russian Yuri. He explained to them that he was feeling unwell and was going to head back to the hotel for a rest, but in truth, he just had enough interaction with people for the day and desperately needed some time alone. On his walk back to the hotel, he turned down a random street and stopped by a park. He sat on a bench and closed his eyes. There were people walking around him, and children were shouting as they played, but none of them paid him any attention. It came as some sort of relief that was different from the silence in his room. Then he heard a ball bounced and rolled towards him. Yuuri picked it up and returned it to a little girl about three years old, who then ran away after saying a shy “thank you”.

 

“I am so sorry about that,” a man spoke to him, and Yuuri looked up to see a local Japanese man probably in his late thirties, dressed in a white polo t-shirt and khaki shorts. “My daughter sometimes underestimates her strength,” he said with a laugh and shook his head, “Kids.” He then motioned to the empty seat beside Yuuri and asked, “May I?”

 

“…sure,” Yuuri saw no way of refusing him, and they both sat in awkward silence.

 

“I know I am intruding your space,” the man suddenly started a conversation, “Do you want me to go away?”

 

“Why are you here?” Yuuri blurted without even understanding what he was asking about.

 

“Here, with you?” he asked, “Or here, where I am?”

 

“…both?” he replied uncertainly. The man gave him a soft smile.

 

“The way you seek solitude in a noisy place, reminded me of my younger self,” he admitted with a sigh, “I don’t know what your story is but I was once lost too.” He eyed Yuuri to make sure he still have his attention and then continued, “I came from the countryside and my family has a thriving farming business that I was supposed to inherit, but I never had a green thumb or a knack for businesses. The expectation was there, but I kept failing. Then I decided to learn something entirely new, in an entirely different environment. Now I am the lead programmer in a software company, and I have started my own family, have new friends, and life is treating me much better here than back home.”

 

Yuuri contemplated his words silently before he asked, “If I move away, can I change my life as you did?”

 

“It will be very irresponsible of me to say ‘yes’,” the man told him, “Moving away worked for me, but it may not work for you. Our lives are different, no matter how similar it might sound. Your life is your own, so you need to make the decision for yourself. BUT, I can tell you that no matter what happens, no matter how hard it gets, you have to choose not to give up.”

 

“I see,” Yuuri said, deep in his thoughts.

 

“Good luck, young man,” the man stood up and turned to him. He offered to shake hands, and Yuuri reluctantly shook it. But he became glad that he did, because the man’s hand was warm and firm that for a moment, Yuuri thought he felt positive energy coursing through him from the nameless man. The gloomy weather in his mind seemed to have cleared and the sun beamed with life from beyond the clouds.

 

“Thank you,” Yuuri said with a smile and a lighter heart.

 

The man’s words echoed in his mind throughout the day and into the next day. He still had no idea what he should or could do with his life, and the future was as bleak as it was back in Hasetsu, but this time, Yuuri’s mind was opened wider in hopes to find something that will make a difference. He mentally assessed the skills he possessed; so far, he knew he had good command of both Japanese and English language; he could also easily grasp topics of finance and economics; but he was not sure if he could consider dieting as a skill.

 

_“I think starving myself isn’t exactly a skill,”_ Yuuri sighed as he stood naked in the hotel’s bathroom. He stared at his reflection and examined himself. His body reminded him of the first time he looked into the mirror at the hospital, but he was lean with muscles then; now he was just a scrawny man with an unhealthy lifestyle. _“I should probably gain some weight,”_ he thought to himself and looked further down, at the dozens of healed and healing fine cuts on his thighs, _“And do something less harmful.”_

 

Changing his thinking was much easier said than done as Yuuri was forced to battle through a much larger crowd on the third day of the Worlds Figure Skating Championship, and he wanted nothing more than to hide under his bed forever. He knew he had to disguise himself since the events on the first day, but he only had a spare white surgical mask; he put it on anyway and somehow, he managed to go unnoticed by everyone. Yuuri heaved a sigh of relief as he followed Minako and Mari, and found themselves seats in the crowded stadium.

 

The murmurs hushed as soon as the lights dimmed and the ice seemed to beckon Yuuri as it reflected the remaining light into his eyes. The purple light came on and as the spotlights followed a dozen figure skaters on the ice, Yuuri felt wonder and amazement at the perfectly synchronized dance that celebrated the start of the Worlds FSC. All of his worries and doubts were erased and there was only one voice in his mind, and it shouted, _“I want to be there! I want to be on the ice!”_

 

It did not matter to Yuuri then that he could barely skate. He looked on with glistening eyes as the athletes danced, and he thought he could feel the cold breeze caressing his face, as if he was the one gliding freely on the ice.

 

From that moment on, Yuuri was overcome with renewed interest in the sport. All he had seen of figure skating so far were videos of Viktor but he was too distracted by the Russian champion’s handsomeness to admire his skills; and he was too preoccupied by the loud voice in his mind shouting its denial that he was the same Katsuki Yuuri in videos of him skating to gold and silver medals in competitions. But now it did not matter how little he knew, Yuuri was determined to turn up for every program in the Worlds FCS and glue his eyes onto each skater.

 

Yuuri sat immobile in his seat as soon as the doors were open to the public for men’s short program on the fourth day of the event. He observed everything on and off the ice; how the crowd reacted wildly to skaters who looked and waved their way; or how the skaters fell silent in concentration just before their program; and how diligent the crew were in maintaining the rink.

 

Whenever a lone skater got onto the ice, Yuuri thought he could feel a strange sense of nostalgia mixed with anxiety washed over him, as if he was the one about to compete. His heart clenched in fearful anticipation whenever a skater did a jump and almost instinctively, Yuuri understood what was going on; whether the spin had three or four rotations, or if a jump was not executed properly. When there was a fall, Yuuri’s leg would twitched as if he could feel the pain in his legs but his mind was clear as he cheered the skater on silently, _“That’s right. Get up when you fall. Continue the routine. You can do it!”_

 

During one of the warm-up sessions, Yuuri looked further down the day’s schedule. He had taken a picture of it with his mobile phone and scrolled until he found Viktor’s name, in the last group, with Phichit Chulanont and Yuri Plisetsky. He scrolled up again and saw that there would be a 15-minutes break to resurface the ice before the last two remaining groups could compete.

 

_“15 minutes should be more than enough to find Viktor and come back,”_ he calculated, _“I just need to flash a smile and wish him a quick ‘good luck’. Then I can come back here and watch him skate.”_

 

But Viktor was nowhere to be found. Yuuri had walked several times along the corridor, up to the prohibited zones, with his eyes darting everywhere to spot silver hair as his ears desperately filtered out the crowd’s murmurs so he would not be overwhelmed by the sounds. Yuuri checked his mobile phone again, and realized that 15 minutes had passed. He hung his head and turned back for the spectator area. Once inside, he noticed with dread that it was already full and his seat was occupied by someone else. Minako and Mari had disappeared too. Yuuri sighed and resorted to standing at the back of the stadium for the remainder of the day’s competition. He made a mental note to text Mari and set up a meeting spot later.

 

_“Right. I could text Viktor! No, wait,”_ Yuuri stopped and sighed, _“I don’t have his contact number.”_

 

As the last group came onto the ice for their 6 minutes warm-up, Yuuri’s heart fluttered when he spotted a silver speck from where he stood. His eyes were focused on Viktor, ignoring everyone else, including Phichit. Yuuri could read from Viktor’s body language that he was deep in his concentration and when the warm-up had ended, he skated towards the middle of the rink and readied himself as the first skater of the group. Like all the other skaters with a ritual, Viktor raised his right hand to his lips and Yuuri turned to the large screen and saw a close-up of him kissing a platinum ring.

 

_“He still wears the ring,”_ Yuuri realized and the old doubt resurfaced again, _“He still has him in his heart, and I… am not the one he yearns for.”_ Yuuri shook his head, _“No. I may not be the same Katsuki Yuuri anymore, but I can be my own person.”_

 

_“Maybe,”_ Yuuri’s eyes sparkled as the music began and Viktor glided across the ice with melancholy elegance, _“If I apologize and tell him how I feel, maybe he will forgive me. Maybe he will give me a chance.”_ He let a faint smile slipped on his face, _“Maybe we can go on a date. I wonder if there is any dating spot nearby…”_

 

Yuuri shook his head, but his smile did not fade, _“What am I saying? Don’t get ahead of yourself, Yuuri! It is ultimately up to Viktor to decide if he will forgive you or not.”_ He looked up when the stadium thundered with loud applause and he realized, _“Oh no, Viktor’s routine has ended. And I barely paid any attention! Yuuri, you fool!”_

 

His brown eyes followed Viktor as he skated towards the side of the rink, but his view became blocked by the other spectators. So he turned his attention to the large screen and saw Viktor greeting his coach, Yakov Feltsman, at the kiss and cry booth. The Russian skater was still breathing heavily after his routine but there was a satisfied smile on his handsome face as he winked and waved to the camera. Yuuri held his breath as the score were being tallied. Cheers erupted as soon as the score appeared on the screen.

 

_“That’s the highest score so far!”_ Yuuri thought as he clapped in celebration, then his applause slowed as realization dawned on him, _“Russian Yuri was wrong after all. Viktor is doing so well, even without my support.”_ But he quickly brushed the thought away and said to himself, _“But I will still root for him, from here.”_

 

On the day of the men’s free skating, Yuuri went to the stadium without Minako or Mari, who were having difficulty getting up on time after their drinking party the night before. He secured himself a spot at the front row and was determined to sit through the entire day just so he could gaze at Viktor’s skating as close as he possibly could. His heart was nervous and giddy for Viktor, who ranked first after the short program, and everyone around him were talking in hushed voices about Viktor winning the gold medal again at the age of 30.

 

The long wait to see Viktor came hours later, and when the music came on, Yuuri recognized it as the same song Viktor had used in the European Figure Skating Championship barely two months ago: _Stammi vicino, Non te ne andare_. He won the silver medal then, but Yuuri was sure Viktor could win the gold medal this time because even after everything that had happened between them in Hasetsu, Viktor never abandoned his training back in Russia. Yuuri knew this to be true since he had been keeping up with news and gossips about Viktor on the Internet and even stalked his social media under a new username.

 

_“Viktor deserves to win the gold medal,”_ Yuuri chanted in his mind as he anxiously studied every movement Viktor made; his slender arms swayed as if he was seducing the ice to dance with him and lay him bare on the frigid floor; his powerful legs carried him all around the large rink and never failed a jump. Yuuri breathed just as Viktor caught his breath from one swift movement to another, and he could almost imagine his own heart beating with Viktor’s.

 

_“Stay close to me. Don’t go anywhere,”_ Yuuri almost wanted to beg as Viktor skated in his direction, _“I’m afraid of losing you.”_

 

Cerulean blue eyes met honey brown eyes, for a millisecond too long.

 

“Viktor!” Yuuri shouted in horror as he watched Viktor fell onto the ice. _“What have I done?”_ Yuuri gasped as Viktor quickly recovered and continued into his final spin. Yuuri covered his mouth to stop himself from shouting, _“I shouldn’t have sat here! Viktor was going to make a final jump and I… distracted him.”_

 

Yuuri held his head in guilt even as the crowd cheered for Viktor at the end of the song. He kept his head low because he dared not look up; he did not want to know how much it could hurt his already broken heart to see Viktor’s scornful look thrown his way. His reluctance was only lifted when the announcer’s voice boomed in the stadium. Yuuri stared at the scoreboard as everyone around him cheered and applauded Viktor’s scores.

 

Yuri Plisetsky’s angry voice echoed in his mind, _“Viktor needs to get the gold medal. And if he doesn’t, I’m pinning that failure on you.”_

 

_“Third place,”_ Yuuri saw the realization of what he had made happened just by selfishly deciding to sit at the front row, where Viktor could be easily distracted by him. His breath hitched, _“It’s my fault!”_

 

Yuuri ran away; he could not bring himself to stay for the victory ceremony. He could not bear the burden of seeing a forced smile on Viktor’s face as a bronze medal hung from his neck, knowing it should have been gold.

 

_“I shouldn’t have been here,”_ Yuuri’s mind panicked as he pushed his way from the crowd in the spectator area and continued to squeeze his way through the packed corridor, _“I should never have come to watch the Worlds in the first place. I should have stayed home. This is all my fault!”_

 

There was no relief for him even after emerging out of the entrance to the spacious courtyard under the sky. In fact, the bright afternoon sun only further mocked him when it tried to bring his attention to the beauty of the rows of potted flowers blooming on the grey concrete; Yuuri felt the wind lovingly caressed his face, but he could only likened it to invisible hands trying to suffocate him in his guilt. He sprinted away, with the intention of seeking solitude in the confines of his hotel room but his legs took random turns at every intersection and dashed down unfamiliar paths until he found himself panting in his weariness in a park where he met the once lost stranger and his young daughter. Yuuri walked further into the park and hid behind a tree at the far end of the perimeter, away from any peering eyes. He slid down the tree trunk to sit on the ground and upon realizing that there was no one near him, he finally let his tears flowed as he hugged his knees to his chest.  

 

He did not know how much time had passed since he left the stadium but he could feel his mobile phone buzzed in the pocket of his jacket multiple times. Yuuri guessed that there were messages from Mari, but he deliberately ignored them because he did not want to communicate with anyone in any form at the moment, until his mobile phone rang and fell out of his pocket. He stared at the screen; it was from an unknown international number. It rang for a while longer, and then the call ended.

 

Yuuri picked up his mobile phone and scrolled to the latest unread message from Mari; she reminded him about packing for home and to meet up with the gang at the lobby tomorrow for breakfast at 7 AM ; in the second message, she asked for his whereabouts; in the third message, she told him where to meet for lunch; and the earliest message was of her squealing in capital letters about Viktor being in third place.

 

“Viktor, I’m sorry…” Yuuri whispered, and rubbed a tear from his face. He scrolled all the way up again and noticed that he had missed a message. It was delivered half an hour ago from the same unknown number that just called him.

 

[Where are you?]

 

“Why are you apologizing?” a voice interrupted him. Yuuri quickly hid his phone out of sight before he looked up. Blood drained from his face when he realized that the person in front of him was wearing the Russian team’s red and white jersey. Yuuri dared to lift his gaze higher, knowing there was no escape and met Viktor’s angry blue eyes. He looked exhausted and his silver hair was disheveled, as if he had been running for a while, and yet despite how he looked, Yuuri thought he was the most handsome man he had ever seen, with the orange sky looming behind him.

 

“Yuuri, why?” Viktor repeated.

 

“I’m sorry,” Yuuri repeated and he lowered his gaze, his voice was timid and soft. But his mind began to replay every word he had told himself throughout the day, and replayed the fall Viktor took because of him.

 

Viktor’s gaze softened as his heart silently longed for the Japanese man before him. He crouched down beside him and gently said, “It’s not your fault I fell.”

 

But Yuuri was already sucked into his own world. He mumbled, “I’m sorry. It’s all my fault. I shouldn’t have sat there. I shouldn’t have come here. I should have stayed home. It’s my fault you lost the gold medal. I’m so sorry.”

 

“Yuuri,” he tried to stop Yuuri from blaming himself but he was not listening.

 

“You are the world champion. You deserve to win the gold medal. You need to win the gold medal,” he continued but the words struck a nerve in Viktor’s mind.

 

_“The gold medal,”_ Viktor repeated in his mind and recalled all the meetings and arguments he had with Yakov when he decided that the Worlds would be his final competition. His coach was supportive of that decision to retire but also disagreed with most of Viktor’s rearrangements because he deemed them too strenuous on Viktor’s body. But Viktor pressed on to practice day and night, and took more falls than he could remember in his effort to win the gold medal, but it all came to ruin here in Japan.

 

He grabbed Yuuri roughly by the shoulders and seethed, “What do you know about the gold medal!?”

 

“I’m so sorry!” Yuuri repeated as his eyes widened in panic and fear.

 

“It meant far more than just another trinket to me!” Viktor’s mind turned his fear of a future behind bars into rage, and he spewed words he knew he would regret later. “You’re right, Yuuri. This is all your fault!” he said even as a small voice at the back of his mind told him to stop, “If only you were not there. If only I never met you. If only… I never loved you.”

 

Viktor paused and he gripped harder onto Yuuri’s shoulder. His voice came out in an anguished whisper, “I hate you… Yuuri.”

 

He only realized the gravity of his words when he saw the first droplet of tear fell from Yuuri’s brown eye, but he could not take back the words that already left him. He never intended to say the things he did when he ran around desperately looking for Yuuri. Viktor only wanted to tell him that he rearranged his free skate’s choreography to call out for him; because even after leaving Hasetsu, he could not deny that his soul was still very much in love with Yuuri. He thought he could win Yuuri’s heart again with his skating but he never imagined that the love of his life would be sitting at the front row and be so utterly captivated by him on the ice. When their eyes met, Viktor thought the world had stopped moving and all he could feel was the love beaming at him from Yuuri’s smile, but that momentary lapse in concentration also became the reason he fell. But it was never Yuuri’s fault.

 

“Why did you come?” he asked, a little calmer and remorseful now, because he never stopped to think about Yuuri. His heart dared to hope that Yuuri made the decision to come to Saitama because he also loved him, somewhere in the deepest part of his heart. But first, he thought he should apologize for the words he could never take back, “Yuuri, I’m–”

 

“Let’s end this, Viktor,” Yuuri’s voice was soft and as monotonous as it was dead, even as tears continuously spilled down his face. Viktor watched as Yuuri’s hand reached up to rest on his hand, and brushed over the platinum ring. His voice broke a little when he spoke next, “Let’s pretend nothing had ever happened between us. Let’s forget about the past we both don’t remember. Let’s… move on with our lives, separately.”

 

Frustration shook his core again as Viktor was slapped with another rejection. Every time he thought he held hope in his hands, Yuuri would smash it into smithereens, as if it was his intention all along. And upon stumbling onto that realization, Viktor could not help but be contemptuous when he said, “It must be so convenient for you, isn’t it?”

 

Yuuri was silent in his confusion, but he could feel his fear of Viktor rose again as his shoulders were released from the Russian man’s powerful grip.

 

“When things go wrong, you can selfishly say you’re sorry and walk away,” Viktor scoffed and his blue eyes glared down at Yuuri, “Have you ever stop to think about the consequences of your decisions? Or did you think there are none?”

 

“… I’m sorry,” Yuuri could not even understand what he was apologizing for anymore.

 

“Sorry?” he mimicked, “No amount of sorry can get me out of jail, Yuuri.”

 

Yuuri gasped, “W-What do you mean?”

 

“Oh? You didn’t know?” Viktor feigned surprise, “Of course you didn’t. You are the pitiful and precious little Yuuri after all. How silly of me to think that someone would be so cruel and devastate you with the fate of my future that hangs on one last gold medal? …the one you just made me lose.”

 

Shaky hands reached up to clutch onto the front of Russian jersey, “What do you mean, Viktor?”

 

“Because of you, I had to make a deal with my country,” he explained as he controlled his anger from bursting, “Because my past self met you, and loved you, I am charged for committing the crime of being a homosexual. And the only way I could be pardoned from the crime, as Russia’s top athlete, is to win the gold medal for Russia. If I fail to win a gold medal this year, I would be spending the rest of my life in prison.”

 

“…prison,” Yuuri could only repeat as his hands fell back by his side, “…because of me.”

 

“That’s right, it’s all because of you,” Viktor knew his words stung but he did not care, “I would not be in this predicament if I never met you. I could have retired years ago, and maybe I might have found myself a wife and have children.” He paused, “My life would have been much better without you complicating it.”

 

“…I’m sorry,” Yuuri stared at the ground, unable to meet Viktor’s gaze out of the guilt for putting his future in such disaster. “…what can I do…?” he asked even though it was futile, “…how can I help?”

 

“There is nothing you can do for me, Yuuri,” Viktor stood up. His hand reached for the medal in his pocket and dropped it onto the ground, “This bronze medal is yours. Keep it.”

 

Silence hung heavy in the air after Viktor turned to walk away. Yuuri was left alone in the empty park again, with his brown eyes transfixed onto the round thing lying on the grass before his eyes which he refused to register as the accursed bronze medal.

 

_“It should have been gold!”_ Yuuri screamed in his mind and pulled at his hair, _“How can I fix this!? Somebody! Please! TELL ME!!!”_

 

A buzz from his mobile phone woke him. Yuuri snapped his head up to look around him and found himself feeling claustrophobic and sweaty as he breathed in the warm air in total darkness. His arms reached forward to find his bearings and stopped on a flat surface right in front of his face. He pushed, and the panels parted. Yuuri got up from his sitting position and proceeded to crawl out from the hole he hid himself in, and realized that he was back in his hotel room. He did not remember making his way back from the park, nor hiding himself in the closet, but he will never forget feeling the weight of his guilt in his hands. Yuuri slid his room’s keycard into the power slot and made his way to his bed, with the medal still in his hand. He plopped onto the bed after he removed his jacket, and stared at his mobile phone. The analog clock on his homescreen was pointing beyond 12 AM and Yuuri finally noticed that he had gone almost a full day without feeling hungry. Shaking the thought from his head, he dragged down the notification bar and saw that there was a new message from Phichit.

 

[Hey Yuuri! Mari said you haven’t been replying to her all day. Is everything alright?]

 

_“No. Everything is not alright,”_ Yuuri answered in his mind, _“I’m so sorry that I’m such a burden to everyone. To Viktor. To Mari. To my parents. To you. Everyone.”_ He dropped his forehead onto his phone, _“Why is everyone so nice to me? Even though I haven’t done anything to deserve kindness? I’ve only made everyone worry unnecessarily, or bring more troubles than I could have ever imagined. Why!?”_

 

He grasped at his already messy hair, trying to pull onto it as he expressed his regret, _“If only I can remember. If only I am Katsuki Yuuri, maybe none of this would have happened.”_ He tugged harder and felt the familiar sensation of pain on his scalp, _“I am just a fake! I can’t be Katsuki Yuuri! I want to remember! I tried SO HARD, but I just… CAN’T!! Why can’t I remember!?”_

_“GODDAMMIT YUURI!! WHY CAN’T YOU JUST REMEMBER!!????”_ he shouted in his mind as his breaths quickened, but he made no effort to calm himself. A voice in his mind suddenly whispered, _‘Hush, there is no need to think.’_

 

His mind suddenly seemed to have shut all thoughts away when his eyes turned towards his backpack, lying on the sofa beside the bed. Yuuri trudged over to it and poured out its content onto the floor as soon as he set his hand on the backpack and proceeded to rummage through everything for a very specific item. A part of his brain subconsciously registered the mess, and a thought flashed back at him, _“Oh, that’s right. Mari told me to pack.”_

 

But Yuuri’s hands continued to squeeze every pocket of his shirts and pants, until at last, he could feel the long shape of salvation beneath his fingers, hidden in one of his pants’ pocket. His mind calmed a little, ‘ _This is it.’_

The penknife felt almost weightless in his hand and the clicks echoed in Yuuri’s ears as he pushed the blade upwards to reveal its sharp side. He set it down to his arm, but stopped just before the blade touched his skin, _“I shouldn’t worry anyone.”_

Just like the ritual in his room in Hasetsu, Yuuri took off his pants and placed a towel on the floor before he sat on it. With his back by the bed’s side and a penknife in his hand, he stared at his scarred inner thighs. A ghost of a smile appeared on his face as the blade glinted in the dim room and he pressed it into his thigh, adding another new cut to the many that were still healing. The line was thin, and it drew very little blood but the pain kept his thoughts away, and the sight of blood was somehow liberating, as if it proved to him that he was still alive.

 

_“Alive?”_ Yuuri thought, _“How can I continue living knowing Viktor is going to jail?”_

_‘More.’_ He cut another line to stop that thought.

_“The whole world is going to know it’s my fault!”_ Yuuri panicked, and made longer cuts, _“My fault!”_

 

_‘More!’_ he pressed harder.

_“Why am I even here!?”_ he asked himself, _“I’m not even supposed to be here! I shouldn’t be here!”_

_‘MORE!’_ he slashed himself even deeper.

_“Why isn’t this working anymore!?”_ he sobbed, looking at the fresh lines on his thighs, and the blood that trailed down to stain the white towel. _“Stop!”_ he threw the penknife away and grasped his head in agony, _“Make it stop! Please!”_

_‘…shh.’_

_“I should have died,”_ Yuuri’s mind suddenly came to clarity, _“If only I had died, then I won’t wake up to this mess. None of this would matter to me.”_

_‘…it’s not too late.’_

Ignoring the blood on his legs, Yuuri crawled over to the mess on the floor, looking for something else he had unwittingly packed along. As his hand searched, it rested on the hard edges of a square box. Yuuri’s heart stopped beating when he realized what it was.

 

_“It is supposed to be on the floor in Hasetsu, why is it here? When did I…!”_ Yuuri gasped as he recalled how he had been staring at Viktor’s gift when Mari knocked on his door to rush him that morning of their departure. In his panic, he abruptly stuffed it deep into his backpack and left the room to join her.

He finally opened the box. Inside was a single platinum ring, with a pair of ice skates imprinted on the inside. It looked the same as the one Viktor was wearing. Hope dared to flicker inside his heart as Yuuri took the ring and slide it on his fourth finger, but that hope quickly dimmed into the darkness again when Yuuri lifted his hand; the ring slid off his finger with just a slight push from his thumb. It fell onto the floor and rolled away from him.

 

_‘It’s not yours.’_

_“I’m not him!”_ Yuuri’s mind shouted as he turned back for his penknife but remembered that the pain did not distract his mind from his own thoughts. _“I’M NOT HIM!!!”_ he turned his gaze back to the floor and threw everything all over the room until he saw a round white bottle rolled away from him; the sleeping pills within rattled softly. Yuuri grabbed the bottle, twisted its cap and poured a handful of pills into his hands. He did not even hesitate for a moment when he threw them into his mouth and stumbled over to the desk and reached for a bottle of water to gulp them all down.

 

Yuuri let himself fall back onto the bed and smiled as his breath slowed when he came to the full understanding of his action. There was no turning back and he felt no regret; he would not let himself feel it.

 

Suddenly, there were knocks on the door.

 

“Yuuri? Are you up?” Mari called from behind the door, “Let’s go for breakfast!” Yuuri was silent. He knew she would leave if he kept quiet. “Hello?” Mari knocked again, “I guess you’re still asleep. I’ll get you something for later. See ya!”

 

_“I shouldn’t make Mari worry,”_ Yuuri thought, _“And my parents too, for what will happen.”_

He turned to pick up his mobile phone and started a new diary entry. Words after words filled the screen as Yuuri typed everything he felt into his mobile phone; he wrote about his confusion and how he tried to become Katsuki Yuuri; he cried silently as he typed about his hopelessness of not being able to remember the past, and how he regretted misleading everyone into thinking that he was fine; and lastly, he wrote how he chose to end his short life, and ended it with a word of farewell. Just as he saved his last entry, his phone beeped. There was a message from Phichit.

 

[YUURI! I thought we could have breakfast together! Come on! Wake up! And join us!]

 

[Sorry]

 

That was the first time he had ever replied to Phichit. Yuuri smiled as he felt drowsier by the second and he closed his eyes to surrender himself to the comforting darkness. His problems were far behind him now. He would not need to face the world as Katsuki Yuuri anymore. There would be no more pain, and no more suffering. Yuuri could feel eternal peace dawn on him and he welcomed it, until pain woke him up to life again, and tormented him for every second of peace he thought he had.

 

_“…can’t! …breathe!”_ Yuuri clutched at his chest, feeling his lungs refusing to draw breaths even as he consciously exerted strenuous effort to gasp and wheeze for air. He could hear his heart pounding rapidly in his ears and he struggled against the rising feelings of nausea. His hands grappled with the sheets as he rolled around the bed, trying to find a position that could make breathing easier and tumbled off the bed to lay on the floor, still fighting for precious breaths.

 

Yuuri coughed fiercely for air and in his hallucinations, he thought he heard his name and loud banging on his door. _“…go away!”_ he thought, and there was silence again, _“…just let me die.”_

 

“YUURI!!!” Yuuri knew that voice.

 

_“Viktor!”_ Yuuri’s hand weakly reached for the door and as soon as he saw the blurry vision of Viktor running towards him, regret quickly filled his eyes with tears and he prayed, _“…please, let me stay with Viktor!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are feeling suicidal, please talk to someone you can trust! Remember that you matter!! 
> 
> Or, if you want to talk to a stranger, hit me up:  
> On tumblr here : https://iarrod.tumblr.com/  
> Or on twitter here : https://twitter.com/iarrod
> 
> As always, thanks for reading and if you want to support my writing, please consider buying me a coffee here : https://ko-fi.com/A043T8W


	7. Stay With Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gave my beta a sneak peek while I was still working on this chapter. She broke down in tears at work. And I broke her with the chapter LOL.

 

Darkness and silence shrouded the large suite room. The pale moonlight streamed into the room to illuminate the coffee table where an empty bottle of vodka laid on its side. A figure sat as still as a statue in the shadows, with an empty shot glass resting idly in his hand. Sleep still eluded him even though he purposely paced himself to get horribly drunk on the clear alcohol. Instead, he was reduced into a mess of a person, reliving the words and actions that he now fully regretted.

 

A buzz lit up a mobile phone on the coffee table. It was an alert to recharge the battery but Viktor did not register that warning, instead, his eyes stared at the lock screen; it was a photograph of himself with a hearty smile as he hooked an arm around Yuuri, who smiled brightly at the camera. Viktor had no memory of ever taking that photograph, and he spent days after returning heartbroken from Hasetsu just staring at the locked screen in their home before he dared to try unlocking Yuuri’s mobile phone, which survived the train wreck safely tucked between the folds of a jacket inside Yuuri’s backpack.

 

At first, Viktor tried a few combinations of numbers that he thought could unlock it; 1-1-2-9 and 2-9-1-1, for Yuuri’s birthday; he even tried 1-2-3-4 for a random lucky guess. Nothing worked for a few hours, and he thought he was being very full of himself when he tried the combination 1-2-2-5, December 25th for his birthday; then the sound of the lock screen being unlocked seemed so loud that it crushed his heart.

 

Returning his thoughts to the darkness in his hotel room, Viktor swapped the shot glass in his hand for the mobile phone, and keyed in the pin number. His finger tapped for the gallery app and he began to scroll through the photographs again. The album roll looked normal at first, with the album listing the latest photographs of Viktor and many other skaters at the previous Grand Prix Final’s banquet, then it dated backwards to the events during the Grand Prix Finals with shots of skaters on the ice and numerous selfies with their friends, but Viktor was not looking for those sort of lost memories. He scrolled past everything to reach that one specific day in their forgotten past, and he stopped exactly at shots of himself fast asleep on the bed, at their home in Russia. Viktor tapped on a rectangular frame to play a video he had watched for thousands of times.

 

_“Shh~”_ a tired-looking Yuuri smiled and waved in the video, then he turned the front camera away from himself towards Viktor, who was deep asleep beside him. The video then shook a little as the bare chested Yuuri reappeared in the video again just as he carefully scooted close to Viktor’s face. He put a finger on his lips to keep himself silent as he smirked and waited, while holding the mobile phone in the air. Seconds later, a loud snore sounded off and Yuuri tried to control his giggle as he said in a hushed voice, _“Vitka! You’ve been snoring all night! I can’t sleep!”_

 

An inaudible mumble came from a semi-conscious Viktor and Yuuri gasped in shock. The video shook more violently this time and the odd angle barely captured Viktor throwing an arm around Yuuri before getting on top of him. The mobile phone slipped out of his hand and bounced a few times on the bed but continued to film their room’s ceiling and recorded the sound of their sloppy morning kisses, and Yuuri’s soft moans. Then there was silence and soft breaths.

 

_“Vitka? Are you up?”_ Yuuri was heard whispering out of the frame, but there was no response. The bed sheet rustled when Yuuri’s fingers felt around the bed for the mobile phone, and as he lifted it up again, the camera panned upwards and recorded the way Viktor had comfortably fallen asleep again with his head resting on Yuuri’s chest. A hand gingerly brushed through the silver locks and the golden ring glimmered in the morning sun as Yuuri looked at the camera and slowly mouthed the words, _“_ _я тебя_ _люблю_ _.”_

 

_“I love you too,”_ Viktor would always reply when the video stopped playing, but this time, he did not; he could not. His eyes were glued to the screen as he replayed the video again and again until the mobile phone turned itself off when the battery was fully depleted.

 

_“I hate you, Yuuri,”_ his own words haunted him as he stared at the black screen in his hand. Tears welled up in his eyes again when he recalled how the words he heartlessly uttered in his despair drained the life out of Yuuri’s eyes; those same honey brown eyes that were beaming with pure love for him just a few hours earlier at the stadium. Viktor realized too late that he could not take his words back and when he tried to apologize, Yuuri’s words cut into him.

 

_“Let’s end this, Viktor. Let’s pretend nothing had ever happened between us. Let’s forget about the past we both don’t remember. Let’s move on with our lives, separately,”_ every word Yuuri forced out stabbed into his heart. This was a rejection he could not take again, not after he had blindly held onto their past and Yuuri’s love for him.

_“I can’t pretend nothing has happened between us,”_ Viktor thought as his grip on the dead mobile phone tightened and he recalled how he let his denial, his fear and his anger took control of him, and how he had lashed out at the only person he should have held dearest in his hands. He knew he needed to stop talking, but he didn’t, not until he had spoken everything that he should never have.

 

It was only when he saw how Yuuri shattered from the weight of the guilt he forced upon him that Viktor finally realized he had broken the person he claimed to love; he knew then that he had lost the right to love him, or to demand him to stay by his side. There was no way to take back the words once they had left his mouth, and so he accepted his lonely fate and walked away, but not before leaving his bronze medal with Yuuri as a token to remember him by.

 

_“I didn’t even say goodbye,”_ Viktor thought regretfully and brought the mobile phone to his lips, as if to kiss the owner again. The mechanical warmth generated from the phone in his hand was far too different from the sweet and gentle warmth on Yuuri’s lips. He could never forget the taste of Yuuri on his lips, or how Yuuri had moved ever so slightly towards him to prolong their first kiss. If he could redo their first kiss all over again, he swore he would never let Yuuri go and –  

 

A loud vibration startled Viktor, and he almost dropped the mobile phone in his hand. He turned his head towards the sound and saw that his own mobile phone was vibrating by the bed. Viktor chose to ignore it at first but when the vibration persisted, he realized that it was not a mere message but an urgent call. He stood up and reluctantly set Yuuri’s mobile phone on the coffee table again before he walked over to pick up his phone. He stared at the caller ID; it was Phichit Chulanont, Yuuri’s best friend.

 

“Viktor! Yuuri is not picking up my call!” Phichit never gave him a chance to speak.

 

“What?” Viktor asked, and he thought he could feel dread beginning to seep into his heart.

 

“He never replies to my messages and now I got a cryptic one!” he answered frantically, “He isn’t even picking up Mari and Minako’s calls! I have a very bad feeling about this, Viktor.” He paused to collect his thoughts, “We are already on our way back to the hotel but right now, you’re much closer to him than we are. Please, find him and make sure he’s okay. Mari just texted you their hotel name and Yuuri’s room number.”

 

“I’m on my way,” Viktor was already out of his room by the time he hung up. He did not care that he was still in his Russian jersey, or smelled like a drunkard. He impatiently hit the elevator button until a familiar bell chimed. On the way downwards, Viktor checked for the new message from Mari with the hotel’s address and inserted the location into his maps application; their hotel was just a few minutes’ walk from where he was. In the brief seconds before he reached the lobby, Viktor’s rational mind calmed and suggested that Yuuri could have just been asleep, but he could not shake off the suspicion in his heart that something had happened to Yuuri, and that it could be his fault. With that fear in mind, Viktor ran as fast as his sore legs could carry him towards Yuuri.

 

 “Yuuri!” he called outside the door and he heard himself panting for breaths. _“It’s not me,”_ he froze when he realized that he was not at all as tired to be panting so desperately. It was coming from inside the room. He desperately tried to force the door open but it would not budge. He repeatedly banged on the door and called wildly, “YUURI?!?!?!”

 

In his hopelessness, he turned around for help but there was only a housekeeping cart down the empty hallway. He made a mad dash towards the cart and spotted an open door. Viktor rushed into the room and forcibly pulled the young housekeeping personnel towards Yuuri’s room.

 

“Please!” he begged her to unlock the door with her master key, and she cooperated without hesitation once she heard loud and tortured coughing from inside the room. Viktor’s relief only lasted for a brief second when the door opened, then his panic quickly descended into horror when he saw Yuuri struggling on the messy floor with his trembling hand reaching out towards for him.

 

“Yuu…!” Viktor lost his voice as he rushed in to gather Yuuri into his arms; their eyes met again but there was only pain. He could feel his own heart die a little more whenever Yuuri shook in his arms from the labored coughs and gasped for breaths. His own breath hitched as his eyes counted the lines of blood on Yuuri’s pale legs that also smeared his hands and face. Viktor’s mind became blank in his helplessness even as he heard the housekeeping personnel dialed for the ambulance.

 

“Yuuri!” he called out to Yuuri and helplessly screamed, _“What do I do!?”_

 

“…ry,” Yuuri struggled with his words and short breaths, “I’m… so…rry.”

 

“No,” Viktor felt his heart squeezed and he begged, “No, no, no! Please, Yuuri!”

 

“…Vik …tor,” Yuuri smiled, despite the pain, “…I love… you…”

 

“Yuuri! Don’t!” he cried, “Yuuri! What’s happening to you?”

 

But Yuuri could not reply him as he tried to fight off the growing feeling of nausea to focus every ounce of energy in him to draw breaths. He heaved a sudden gasp and abruptly pushed himself away from Viktor to throw up onto the carpet. Eight half-digested white round pills spilled out of him, and Viktor was shocked, _“Sleeping pills? How many did you take!?”_

 

He rather not know at this very moment but as soon as he understood the reason Yuuri was struggling, he knew what he needed to do. Viktor held Yuuri steady and stuck two fingers down his throat in an attempt to further induce another vomit. Yuuri gagged and Viktor removed his fingers as he watched a few more pills spewed out of him. Viktor let Yuuri took a few more breaths before he tried to reach into his mouth again; but his hand was pushed away.

 

Yuuri’s body slumped back into Viktor’s arms, and he held Yuuri close and helplessly look on as his Heart desperately coughed for breaths. He did not want to think, or to imagine what could possibly happen in the next few hours. Tears welled up in his eyes when his mind let slip the vaguest thought that there might be nothing in their future. He shook the dreadful thought away but all it did was to bring back the memory of their disastrous conversation at the park. His voice shuddered with regret when he spoke to Yuuri, “I did this to you.”

 

Yuuri began to feel his consciousness slipping away from him again, but he managed to weakly deny as his breath slowed, “…no…”

 

“Yuuri, I’m sorry!” Viktor cried and hugged him to his chest, trying with all his might to piece two broken lovers together again, “I never meant everything I’ve said! I take my words back! All of it! For every horrible word I said to you, I meant to say ‘I love you’ a thousand times over, and I mean it with all my heart and soul. So please, don’t leave me. Give me time to prove it to you. Yuuri, please, I beg you.”

 

“…Vik …stay,” Yuuri managed to whisper by Viktor’s ear just before his consciousness drifted away, _“…with me.”_

 

“Yuuri?” Viktor’s heart stopped when he saw Yuuri’s brown eyes closing, and he screamed in anguish, “YUURI!!!”

 

“Sir, please step aside,” Viktor heard a male’s voice speaking to him and he felt hands trying to pull him away from Yuuri. He did not look at the three men who had hurriedly barged into the room wearing dark blue uniforms with light blue jackets.

 

“Yuuri! Yuuri! I’m here! Open your eyes! Look at me!” he pushed the paramedics away and refused to budge. One of them took a firm hold of Viktor as the other two moved Yuuri to lay on the floor. Viktor managed to grasp and pull onto Yuuri’s t-shirt but when he was torn further away from his lover, he could only anxiously watched as the paramedics performed CPR on Yuuri while communicating the situation amongst themselves in Japanese.

 

“Yuuri!” he desperately wanted to know what they were saying about him, and he turned to the senior paramedic holding him back for answers. The older man’s face had hardened from decades of seeing similar cases throughout his career, and he knew that it was also his duty to comfort the ones directly affected by a suicide attempt. His face was grim when he turned to look at Viktor, but he gave him a slight nod after confirming that there was still a chance to save the young Japanese man.

 

“Sir, do you know this man?” he asked. Viktor nodded. “Do you know his family and their contact numbers?” Viktor nodded again and the senior paramedic requested, “Please come with us to the hospital.”

 

_“Stay,”_ Yuuri’s last word echoed in his mind and he could have meant “stay away”, but Viktor made up his mind to remain by Yuuri’s side, even if he was told not to, or was barred from staying. He looked on as the paramedics lifted Yuuri onto a stretcher and a strong sense of déjà vu rose within him, as if he had seen this scene before. His body seemed to remember the way he held Yuuri’s hand as he ran alongside the stretcher with the paramedics. He looked up at the men, who were trying to keep Yuuri alive in the ambulance, and he suddenly realized that his mind’s eye was overlapping their light blue jackets with bright orange vests.

 

_“French paramedics?”_ Viktor stared at the words on the vest. He shifted his gaze towards Yuuri again, and his eyes widened when he saw cuts and blood on his face. His head began to ache as he recalled how Yuuri had looked just a few moments ago, _“Yuu…ri? No, there was no cuts.”_

 

“Sir? Are you alright?” Viktor heard the senior paramedic’s deep voice. He blinked and the orange vest was no more. He realized again with clarity that all three men riding in the ambulance with him were wearing long sleeved light blue jackets with Japanese words. The younger ones were concentrating their attention on Yuuri as they monitored his vitals and pumped oxygen into him. Only the senior paramedic was aware that something was off about Viktor when he passed a clean towel to him.

 

“Y-yes,” he answered and his grip on Yuuri’s hand tightened, “I was just… remembering…things.”

 

Viktor was finally remembering something from the past he had shared with Yuuri, and he let his mind rewound itself back to the past as he stared at Yuuri’s unconscious face, feeling the fear of losing the man before him grow by the second. He could almost recall experiencing the same devastation in a cramped ambulance as sirens blared in his ears, _“We were here before.”_

Words printed on a train ticket flashed into his mind, _“We were on a train. To Paris. From Barcelona.”_

 

_“It was after the Grand Prix Final,”_ he remembered, _“I placed second, and Yuuri got the gold medal!”_

His mind was recalling events of their last day together as husbands; he remembered waking up to Yuuri’s familiar warmth beside him on the bed, after a night of love making; and he could clearly see it now in his memories, the image of Yuuri crying in front of him as he smiled widely when Viktor slipped the wedding ring onto his finger the night before. Every sob Viktor hear in his mind unlocked more memories of the man he called husband, until he finally remembered everything.

 

He remembered the banquet at Sochi, where he got his heart stolen by a drunk Japanese skater and danced the night away with him. He remembered dumping his own coach in Russia to fulfill his promise as the defeat dancer of their dance-off in Barcelona. He remembered their awkward meeting in the hot spring, and the countless coach-and-student bonding moments naked in the bath together. He remembered the days spent physically training Yuuri to be the champion at the Grand Prix Final, and he remembered watching with pride as his first student blossomed under his horrible coaching. He even remembered the hard way he learnt to deal with Yuuri’s fragile mind and his decision to stay loyal and supportive of his student and lover through every competition.

 

He recalled how he had schemed to indirectly motivate his junior, Yuri Plisetsky, to snatch the gold medal from Yuuri’s grasp out of a selfish desire to keep his lover by his side; because he could not refuse Yuuri’s sincerest wish for him to return to the sport, but at the same time, Viktor could not bear the thought of spending time away from each other for trainings and competitions. He desperately needed a reason to force Yuuri to stay with him, because he had already fallen hopelessly in love with his Japanese student and he was afraid of losing Yuuri to his own dangerous mind if left alone for too long.

 

With the onslaught of harassment and discriminations immediately after their first Grand Prix Final as coach and student, Viktor constantly panicked over the moments when Yuuri’s mind might try to convince him that he did not deserve to be the living legend’s lover. Even though they had their golden engagement rings binding them together, Viktor lived fearing the day Yuuri would decide to walk out of his life until he realized that he, too, had to make the decision to stay with Yuuri. In the midst of hiding from their widely publicized scandal as a homosexual couple, Viktor pulled Yuuri into the safety of his arms and swore with his heart and soul that he would always stand by Yuuri’s side for the sake of their love; and in return, Yuuri promised to never leave his side.

 

Viktor looked down at his platinum wedding ring, and felt the full weight of their lost love on his finger. He remembered the mental and physical torment their relationship had to endure during their brief years together, but they never stopped to question their love for each other. Instead, they had built a much deeper and stronger bond of trust and faith upon every hardship they overcame.

 

He held his right hand to his heart as he felt his love for Yuuri overflowed. Viktor remembered his words that night, _“I promised you ‘forever’. ‘To love and cherish you forever, even in death.’ That was my wedding vow to you.”_

 

“…and I walked away from you, three times!” his words spilled as did his tears when he recounted the three times he made the decision to leave Yuuri; the first time was when he turned away from Yuuri at the hospital in France; the second time was when he left Hasetsu; and the third time was at that park just yesterday evening. Viktor kissed Yuuri’s hand and called out to him just as he was wheeled towards the emergency ward, “Yuuri. I swear I won’t leave you again. So please, come back to me.”

 

Viktor felt a hand stopped him and his feet froze as he watched Yuuri disappeared behind the doors to the emergency room. He found himself all alone, in shock and denial, at a hallway that seemed far too empty than the one in his memories. His mind filled the silence with murmurs of panicked voices and cries of pain, and Viktor saw himself pacing along the crowded hallway as he waited for Yuuri. He remembered staggering towards the waiting room to stare at the television, _“I saw the news.”_

 

The words of the newscaster replayed in his mind, _“According to journalists, gold and silver medalists of the ISU Grand Prix of Figure Skating Final, Katsuki Yuuri and Viktor Nikiforov, were reported to have boarded the doomed train involved in the most horrific train derailment of the century. An eyewitness have confirmed Mr. Nikiforov’s survival, but Mr. Katsuki is feared dead.”_  

 

Viktor’s heart almost stopped as the last piece of memory flooded back into him and he clasped his hand to his mouth as realization finally dawned on him, _“I didn’t lose my memories because I suffered a trauma from the crash. I lost my memories of Yuuri because I could not accept the possibility of a life without him!!!”_

His legs weakened and his back found the wall for support as he slid down to the floor. Viktor clutched his head in disbelief, _“Why?! Why did I do this to myself?! How could I betray Yuuri in this way?!”_

“Yuuri!” he cried as he reached for the emergency door separating him from his Love. The image of an unconscious Yuuri dying in his arms still lingered in his mind, and he could only repeat, “I’m so sorry! I’m so sorry! I’m so sorry!!”

 

“Viktor! What happened?!” he vaguely heard voices spoke to him and he felt hands grabbing him by the shoulders, but he only looked ahead, at Yuuri, “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

 

“VIKTOR!!” Mari slapped and then screamed at him, “WHAT HAPPENED?!”

 

Viktor looked up. Even with his vision blurred by his own tears, he could make out the worried faces of Mari, Minako and Phichit. His voice was as soft as a whisper when he answered them, “Pills. He took the pills. So many of it.”

 

“Pills?” Phichit repeated in shock, but Mari immediately understood what Viktor meant.

 

“YUURI, YOU IDIOT!!!” Mari turned to the emergency door and shouted, “I DIDN’T GET THOSE SLEEPING PILLS FOR YOU TO DO THIS!!!”

 

“Mari,” Viktor called out to her weakly, “I’m sorry.”

 

“He did this to us, Viktor! Not you!” Mari turned back to him, “If there is anyone who should say ‘sorry’, it is Yuuri! After everything he had put us all through since December, now he selfishly chose to do THIS!”

 

“I FORCED HIM, MARI!” Viktor confessed and then lowered his voice, “I made Yuuri choose death. I am the one you should blame, not Yuuri.”

 

“What are you saying?” Mari was shocked.

 

“Viktor! You!” Phichit lost control of himself and pulled Viktor up to pin him to the wall. Viktor felt the hands gripping his shoulders shaking from anger as Phichit’s dark eyes gleamed with tears. For once, there was no smile on his usually cheerful face – only rage and frustration – and Viktor was suddenly aware of the reason this man chose to remain as Yuuri’s best friend through the years; his love for Yuuri was unrequited because Yuuri only had eyes for him, the living legend Viktor Nikiforov.

 

_“I’m not the only one who can love Yuuri,”_ Viktor thought as he look at Phichit.

 

“You met him yesterday. What did you do to him?!” Phichit pressed on.

 

_“Phichit would have never put Yuuri through all of this,”_ Viktor thought and he could almost picture the alternate reality of Yuuri being with Phichit, who would never stop making Yuuri laugh with his silly antics.

 

“What did you say to him?!” Phichit shook him angrily for answers.

 

_“Yuuri would have been happier without a failure of a husband like me,”_ he realized in defeat.

 

“Viktor!!” Phichit shouted, “Say something!”

 

“I blamed him, for my falling to third place,” Viktor slowly began, “I told him it would be his fault if I go to jail.” He felt Phichit’s grip on his shoulders tightened as he turned his guilt into words and then his own voice shuddered when he spoke next, “I told him my life would have be better without him, and that I hated him.”

 

A punch hit him hard on the face almost immediately, but Viktor did not retaliate; he knew he deserved more than just a punch. The taste of blood from his lip and the pain on the left side of his cheek was nothing compared to the heartache and anguish in his heart.

 

“How could you say those things to Yuuri?!” Phichit cried at him, “You knew how mentally weak he is–”

 

“I didn’t!” Viktor admitted regretfully and cried, “I forgot how to love and care for Yuuri!” Phichit did not have the heart to further crush him with his fist or words and he watched Viktor broke apart in his grip. The crumbling Russian continued, “When I knew about Yuuri and our shared past, all I did was to force myself onto him. I never stopped to think about his feelings, or how easily I could affect his mental stability. I only selfishly acted for myself, and then I took the rejections so personally that I just… blamed everything on him.”

 

Viktor could hear Mari and Minako gasped in horror, and he fell to his knees to bow deeply with his forehead touching the floor in front of Phichit, Mari and Minako. He said, almost formally, “Words cannot begin to express how deeply I regret what I have done to Yuuri. It was by my words that made Yuuri try to take his life.” Viktor paused momentarily in fear and doubt but he pleaded, “I know you must despise me now, but please, let me stay with him. Let me love him again.”

 

“That’s not for us to decide, is it?” Mari replied as her heart ached with sadness and anger at Viktor.

 

Viktor remembered Yuuri’s words before he fainted in his arms, _“Viktor, I love you. Vik, stay.”_ He was certain Yuuri meant for him to stay but he knew their future was not written in stone. So he replied solemnly, “If Yuuri wants me gone, I’ll leave.”

 

Minako crouched in front of a defeated Viktor and said, “Knowing Yuuri, he will never tell you to leave.”

 

She put her hands on his shoulders and lifted him up so she could look straight into his eyes and said to him, “Viktor, you have always been a selfish person, especially the way you first came to Hasetsu to become Yuuri’s coach, but you’ve learned to love him in a way that none of us could have.” She took a deep breath and continued with a brittle voice, “I love Yuuri too, as dearly as a son, and I am finding it very hard to forgive you; for losing your memories of him at the most critical time of his life when he needed you, and for uttering those heartless words that were beyond hurtful to him.”

 

“Nor can I forgive myself, but I can’t undo what I’ve said and done,” Viktor accepted the bitter reality, “I want Yuuri home alive too. I love him. I still do, very much.” He paused and then thought out loud, “If only I hadn’t been so selfish, we would have gone to Paris last year, just as Yuuri wanted. We could be home right now, in Saint Petersburg or Hasetsu, or we could have been here in Saitama competing in the Worlds together.”

 

“…Viktor, you…!” alarms were ringing in Phichit’s brain as he listened; Paris was something he knew Yuuri had only confided in him with.

 

“I’ve already lost him once, I cannot lose him again,” Viktor said to himself as tears fell, “I will not survive it.”

 

“…how much have you remembered?” Phichit came between Minako and Yuuri’s Russian husband. He felt both anger and hope in him when as he looked at Viktor, whose eyes only held hopelessness and fear.

 

“Everything,” Viktor answered.

 

Phichit felt anger overpowering hope at that answer, “Did Yuuri know?!”

 

_“Yuuri…”_ Viktor fell silent as he felt the guilt of breaking every promise he had made to Yuuri weighed heavily on his shoulders. Despair crept into his heart when he imagined the day he would confess all of his sins to Yuuri, and he was suddenly afraid of the consequences, _“What would Yuuri think of me then? Would Yuuri even forgive me if he knew? Would he stay? …or leave?”_

 

“…since when?! Did you break his heart on purpose, even after remembering everything?!” Mari asked loudly. Her angry voice snapped Viktor out of his own bubble and he looked up to see Minako holding Mari back. The tears and anger on Mari’s face made him realized that he was not the only one in distraught. Everyone there with him was also suffering from the fear of losing Yuuri.

 

“No! I would never do that to Yuuri,” Viktor replied and then admitted, “I… remembered on the way here.”

 

“Why did you forget Yuuri?” Mari cried as she was finally able to ask the question she had since the moment she knew about Viktor’s amnesia. She wanted answers, “Why him? What happened?”

 

“Yuuri, he,” Viktor looked down at his hands, as if he could still see Yuuri’s blood from the crash on his now cleaned hands. His breath shuddered as he told them, “He protected me. There was so much blood… from the back of his head. He was barely breathing and wouldn’t wake up no matter how much I called his name.”

 

“I didn’t dare to think …of the possibility of losing him, but I,” Viktor pulled at his own hair as he relived the moment he broke down at the hospital in France, in that overcrowded waiting room, “I saw the news. I didn’t realize so many people had died, and when Yuuri was reported to be among the dead, even though I knew it wasn’t true… I just… couldn’t take it. I didn’t want to live in a world without him.”

 

Viktor looked up at Mari, “…when I woke up next, I thought I just won Sochi 2015.” He broke down in tears recounting the ignorant way he had reacted when Yuri Plisetsky pulled the curtains away, “Yuuri was lying comatose next to me but I didn’t recognize him! I couldn’t remember him at all! …my husband was right there with me and then I… walked away from him.”

 

Mari was silent in her own reminiscence; she had watched Viktor walked out of Yuuri’s life, and she did nothing to stop him. She still remembered the anger and disappointment she felt towards him then but she could not fully resent Viktor, not when she saw how his world seemed to fall apart in his eyes as he turned away from a lover he had no memories of. She gazed at Viktor, who now had regained his lost memories, and she thought he seemed even more broken now than he had been.

 

“But you knew about Yuuri before that day. You must have at least remember hearing about him,” Mari argued even as her heart ached for Viktor, “Why did you remember your gold medal? And not him? He was there, competing with you…”

 

Viktor was silent. He had no answer for her, or for himself, but he agreed with Mari. Even if his memories after 2015/16 Grand Prix Final were locked away, Viktor should have remembered Yuuri from the news in the figure skating world. He would have read articles and watched videos of Japan’s rising star long before they would actually meet. But it was only now that Viktor recalled any of it, including how the adorable teenage Yuuri stood shyly on the middle podium to accept his gold medal at the Japan Junior Figure Skating Championship.

 

“The first time you talked to Yuuri was at the banquet, wasn’t it?” Phichit asked him, as if he was catching onto something.

 

“We danced,” he nodded weakly with a smile at the memory, then he laughed softly at what happened next, “We continued to dance song after song even after the banquet had officially ended. When we stopped, Yuuri wouldn’t let me go and was hanging onto me. I couldn’t understand a word of Japanese then, but I remember his words in English: ‘be my coach.’”

 

“Yuuri looked at me with those big sparkling brown eyes of his, and I thought I wouldn’t mind falling for him,” Viktor recalled how his cold heart moved at the sight, “Have you ever seen a drunkard looking like a precious darling?”

 

Phichit’s eyes widened in realization. He deduced a theory, “You forgot everything since the banquet because you had fallen in love with Yuuri that night! And you’ve become so in love with Yuuri since that night that losing him would hurt so much you’d rather not know him at all!”

 

Viktor knew Phichit spoke the truth but he could only hear the accusation in his words. He strongly denied it, “No! I never intended to forget Yuuri!”

 

Minako was calm as she spoke, “Viktor, the doctor mentioned that your amnesia was unlike Yuuri’s. That yours was due to a psychological trauma.” She paused, and noticed Viktor’s slight nod at her words. Her words were almost inaudible as her voice broke when she tried to rephrase Phichit’s words, “It wasn’t the crash that caused your amnesia, was it? It was your fear of losing Yuuri that caused you to forget him…”

 

“……I…believe so…” Viktor hated to admit it to himself or to Yuuri’s family and friends, but he felt obligated to, as Yuuri’s husband; as the person who should have taken better care of Yuuri. He stopped to reorganize the last thoughts he had of Yuuri before he lost consciousness in France, but he did not get the chance to explain himself.

 

A female doctor emerged from the doors and looked at the four distraught people in the hallway. She asked, “Family of Katsuki Yuuri?”

 

“I am!” both Viktor and Mari stepped up to the doctor, who gave Viktor a questioning look. Minako and Phichit stood closely behind the two in worried anticipation.

 

“I am his husband,” Viktor confirmed his words. The doctor turned to Mari for confirmation. She almost reluctantly nodded, and the doctor relented, but peered at the other two non-family behind them. Viktor said, “They are close friends, almost like family. They need to know too.”

 

The doctor gave them a soft smile, “Katsuki Yuuri is alive and out of danger, but he is asleep for now.” The sighs of relief filled the hallway as the doctor continued, “We have performed a gastric suction on him to empty his stomach of the sleeping pills, and have given him activated charcoal to reduce the amount of drugs being absorbed into his body. We’ve also treated the cuts on his thighs and will be transferring him to the regular ward after a few more hours of observation and you will be free to take a look at him.”

 

“Can’t we see him now?” Viktor asked in a heartbeat. The doctor gave him a disapproving look because she disliked the presence of eager families with patients in the emergency ward. She hated how they would hover over the patients – shaking and yelling at them – when patients should be better left alone to rest.

 

“Just one person at a time,” she obeyed the protocol, and emphasized her last word, “Quietly.”

 

Viktor and Mari looked at each other, both unwilling to let the other go first. Then Viktor conceded to Yuuri’s sister; he gave her a reluctant smile and a nod, and Mari rushed into the ward without another word. He ignored Minako and Phichit’s surprised glances and silently counted the seconds that turned into minutes until Mari returned to the group. Her eyes were much more swollen and red than it had been but she managed to give them a relieved smile. A sigh finally escaped Viktor’s lungs and he nodded at Phichit, who in turn, pushed Minako towards the emergency ward. Phichit then stood beside Viktor, and both men fell into silence as they watched Mari wiped her tear-streaked face.

 

When Minako came back into the hallway with a similar red face as Mari, Phichit turned to Viktor. He did not meet his eyes, nor did Viktor attempted to. There was a hint of warning in Phichit’s voice when he said, “This time, don’t leave him.”

 

“Never,” Viktor replied loud enough for the young man to hear.

 

The last few minutes of wait seemed too long to bear that when Phichit finally exited the ward, Viktor ran to Yuuri. As soon as he reached Yuuri’s bedside, his already broken heart shattered into millions of pieces when he saw how much paler Yuuri looked. His hands trembled when he reached for his lover’s face to trace the dark circles beneath his eyes and his hollowed cheeks.

 

_“I did this,”_ he fought back his cries, _“Yuuri, you are so much thinner than that time at Grand Prix Final.”_

 

Tears threatened to fall as he leaned down to touch his forehead to Yuuri’s; his unconscious husband felt unusually cool to his touch when he was always the warmer one of the two. He missed feeling Yuuri’s comfortable warmth as they cuddled in bed, naked with their legs entangled and their foreheads kissing. Those were the moments where the twinkle in their eyes and the passion in their kisses would have been enough to convey love better than any word could have described.

 

“Yuuri, I’m here, Love,” Viktor tried to keep his voice steady as he nuzzled the tip of Yuuri’s nose and stared at his closed eyes. This was how he used to wake his sleeping beauty in the morning; it was his daily routine. And the reward was to gaze into a pair of brown eyes that gleamed with love only for him. Viktor’s lip gently kissed Yuuri’s dry lips, and he whispered, “Wake up.”  

 

He thought his kiss would work, but when Yuuri’s eyes made no movement at all, disappointment freed his tears and Viktor made no attempt to stop them from falling onto Yuuri’s face. But he was unwilling to give up; not on his love. He kissed him again, deeper this time.

 

His second kiss lasted longer than the first, and he confessed, “Yuuri, I love you.”

 

His third kiss was a gentle peck, and he pleaded, “Yuuri, let me stay by your side.”

 

His fourth kiss was mixed with the bitterness of his own tears, “Yuuri, let’s go home.”

 

Viktor’s mind recalled the days when they would go home from training practices, with groceries in their hands. He remembered how they would make dinner together like an inseparable old couple and then childishly quarreled over whose turn it was to do the dishes, or to take out the trash. He remembered them walking Makkachin together, and to hold hands or steal kisses whenever no one was watching. He remembered Yuuri looking back at him, with a smile brighter than the sun.

 

“I want to see those wrinkles by your eyes whenever you smile again,” he said softly to Yuuri, “I want to hear your adorable laughter whenever you play with Makkachin again. I want to wake up every morning, listening to your breaths and feeling your warmth beside me again.”

 

He placed another kiss on those lips again and said, “I want you to see how beautiful you are in my eyes again.”

 

_“But what if you don’t want to see me after all?”_ his own anxiety plagued his mind.

 

“Yuuri, tell me you love me again,” he begged as he rubbed off the tears on Yuuri’s face, wishing and waiting earnestly for a response of any kind, but there was no sign that Yuuri was listening; just the soft sighs of him exhaling shallow breaths. Viktor kissed him again and pleaded softly, “Tell me to stay again.”

 

He would have wanted to lay himself on the bed beside Yuuri if it was not against the hospital rules, so Viktor pulled a chair as close as possible by Yuuri’s bed. His fingers intertwined with Yuuri’s, as they often did when they slept together, and stared at his husband’s bare ring finger, where a golden engagement ring had been, and where a platinum wedding ring should have been. 

 

_“You said you love me,”_ Viktor’s finger traced a line across Yuuri’s finger as confusion swirled within him, _“Why won’t you wear our wedding ring?”_

 

He froze. He recalled the crude manner in which he left Yuuri’s ring: silently, and in suppressed anger.

 

A huge regret piled on top of his already enormous mountain of regrets. Frustration stung his eyes when he finally accepted – in full conscience – the disastrous outcome stemming from the words and actions he had committed while he was suffering from amnesia. Viktor could not deny that he had acted beyond his usually unacceptable egoistical self in his ignorant desire to court and force Yuuri to fill the nagging emptiness in his own heart. He willfully disregarded the warnings that Yuuri was mentally weak and stepped into Yuuri’s closely guarded comfort zone to corner him both mentally and physically just so he could coerce his supposed Japanese lover to reciprocate his feelings. Even though he knew his love for Yuuri was true, Viktor could not help but now doubt if his feelings for him then was false, one that was born out of desperation for a lost companion.

 

_“I knew everything about us. I saw everything about us. But I remembered nothing about us,”_ Viktor admitted in his mind as his hands tightened around Yuuri’s, _“I felt immensely for you even without any memories of you, but I was more desperate in needing you to be in my life, to make my misery go away. I didn’t even realize how lightly I thought of you as a lover despite knowing that I was deeply in love with you. I never tried to understand my own feelings because I have never been so in love with anyone before.”_

 

Viktor reached out to caress the side of Yuuri’s face and said, “Yuuri, did you know that you’re the first person I’ve ever pursued romantically?” He smiled as tears clouded his eyes, “You are the first person I’ve ever wished to keep in my life. But I betrayed you, so heartlessly.”

 

“What right do I have to ask that I remain by your side?” he lamented, “Will you even give me the chance to make amends for every despicable thing I’ve said and done to you?”

 

He thought of the abandoned small blue box holding the most precious artifact of their bond, lying on top of a box of the Valentine’s Day chocolates in his room in Hasetsu. He kissed the finger where Yuuri’s ring should have been and asked, “Will you let me put our wedding ring on you again?”

 

“That ring is yours, always will be,” he whispered to him as he kept his eyes on Yuuri; just waiting and waiting, for hours and hours.

 

Meanwhile Mari, as Katsuki Yuuri’s next of kin, was led by a nurse into an office to fill and sign documents with the hospital. After all the paperwork had been filed, she turned to Minako, who had been following closely behind her, for support as her trembling hands dialed for home. She tried to sound relieved but as soon as she heard both her parents’ happy voices greeting her, she began apologizing incessantly for failing as a sister. Minako immediately pulled the sobbing Mari into her arms and took over the duty to inform Toshiya and Hiroko of the situation; her calmness managed to spread through the Katsuki family and the two elder Katsuki had nothing to say but to thank the heavens again for keeping Yuuri alive.

 

After calmness had found Mari, she picked up her phone again to call Morooka Hisashi, and told him everything that had happened. The man was in a shocked disbelief at first but assured her that he would be arriving at the hospital later the day to take charge of the matter as the spokesperson for Japanese Skating Federation. Before he hung up, Hisashi advised her to keep quiet for the moment and to use the World FSC exhibition as a cover to keep journalists from picking up the news. Mari willingly complied and repeated his words to Minako and Phichit, whose social media had not been updated since morning.

 

As much as they wished to stay, there was nothing any one of them could have done for Yuuri except to wait for him to regain his consciousness again. But as they waited in the quiet hallway, they realized that there were still arrangements to be made; for one, Minako and Mari needed to contact the hotel to arrange for their extended stay and to check Yuuri and his belongings out of his room. As for Phichit, he still have an exhibition to skate to in the afternoon, even though he wanted to skip it very much. Reluctantly, all three of them left without a word.

 

Phichit had a much harder time keeping up his pretense when he met up with the other skaters, who immediately noticed the awkwardness in his usually cheerful smile. He managed to fool most of them with the excuse that his stomach had not been feeling well since breakfast, but Yuri Plisetsky was already pouncing on him as soon as their eyes met. Phichit struggled but let himself be dragged into the empty locker room and gulped as Yuri towered over him menacingly, even though he was supposed to the younger one.

 

“Where the fuck is Viktor Nikiforov?” Yuri seethed, slamming both his hands onto the lockers behind Phichit.

 

“C-Calm down, Yuri,” the Thai skater tried to force a smile, “Why are you asking me this? I haven’t seen him all day!”

 

“Don’t fuck with me! I know something is up between him and Katsudon,” Yuri spat and tried to gather his limited amount of patience. He controlled his anger and asked, “What happened yesterday? Where is Katsudon? What did he do to Viktor?!”

 

“It’s not Yuuri’s fault!” Phichit could not hold himself back. Yuri glared at him, and Phichit admitted in defeat, “Well, not entirely.”

 

He then related everything he knew about the events of the day before to the Russian young man; what Yuuri did to himself the next morning; and where he could find Viktor. Throughout the entire explanation, the younger man kept all his emotions in check and did not utter a single word to interrupt Phichit, not until he finished.

 

“Yuuri…you stupid…” the blonde’s voice was barely audible in his shock that the cheerful crybaby he secretly looked up to would attempt suicide. Phichit’s words reorganized itself in his mind and he recalled the way Viktor had rushed out after the victory ceremony. He ignored the journalists who waited the whole day to interview him and did not even turn to look at the camera on his way out. He was _that_ desperate to find his Japanese Yuuri, but instead of confessing to his love again, he rejected Yuuri himself and came back to the hotel with a pitiful look on his face. Yuri held his breath, “…so that’s why he came back… looking like that.”

 

Yuri shook his head as his mind understood the gravity of the situation; the panic from the attempted suicide of the Grand Prix Final gold medalist and the uproar of a missing bronze medalist from the Worlds’ exhibition would certainly make headlines for days if not weeks. Yuri knew no one could know about this matter but there was one more person who should be informed. The Russian tiger looked almost solemn when he turned to Phichit and said, “I’ll be quiet about this, but I have to inform Yakov. He needs to know. And, he can get Viktor back here.”

 

“Viktor will not come,” Phichit told him with tears in his eyes, “He will never leave Yuuri again.”

 

“Of course that idiot won’t-” but the blonde paused in mid-sentence. The way Phichit said it was odd and he questioned the Thai champion, “Wait, what do you mean?”

 

“He remembered,” Phichit forced a smile, “…everything.”

 

A smile began to creep into Yuri’s face at that revelation but dread spread within him faster than his relief and joy. Even though he had revealed to Viktor that he had played a part in Yakov’s scheme to hide Yuuri’s existence from him, the guilt still tormented him when he thought all the items he hid from his senior and lies he had told to separate the two skaters. Yuri tried to hide his conflicting emotions and reiterated, “…Yakov needs to know.”

 

This was one of the few times where the rebellious Yuri had enough decency as an adult to wait for the permission he knew he did not need to ask for. But it was only after he caught the slightest sign of a nod from Phichit that he turned to leave the locker room. Once outside, he ran around the building, desperately looking for his coach, Yakov. He finally found the old coach chatting with other coaches down a hallway and he threw all his manners to the wind to roughly grab Yakov aside.

 

Yuri did not give Yakov a second to reprimand him and quickly told him the matter at hand. Upon hearing the news, the Russian coach showed great concern for Katsuki Yuuri’s wellbeing at first but as soon as he heard about Viktor, Yakov was shaking from the conflicting mixture of happiness, relief, anger, and disappointment. No matter how many scenarios he had run through in his mind to prepare for this day to come, Yakov never imagined Viktor would regain his memories at this precise moment when the secrecy of Yuuri’s suicide was of utmost importance. The coach immediately understood his role and hastened towards the hospital to knock some senses into the man before his disappearance could make sharp journalists caught onto the news.

 

“Viktor!” Yakov called out as soon as he entered the ward where Yuuri had just transferred into.

 

“He wouldn’t wake up, Yakov,” Viktor said and kept his eyes on Yuuri, “What do I do?”

 

“He will wake up soon,” he reassured him and put a hand on Viktor’s shoulder, “I’ve heard what happened. Viktor, right now we need to keep Yuuri out of the spotlight. I need you back at the rink for the exhibition.”

 

“I’m not leaving him,” Viktor said solemnly, “I promised I wouldn’t.”

 

“Viktor! I can understand how you are feeling but this isn’t the time to be sentimental!” Yakov raised his voice, “You need to protect Yuuri, and with you being here, the journalists will find out about this sooner than later!”

 

“I SAID I’M NOT LEAVING HIM!” Viktor shouted as he squeezed Yuuri’s hand in his, “Not again!”

 

When he finally turned to his coach, Yakov almost could not recognize his student. Viktor’s tear-streaked face was pale from fatigue and his eyes were swollen red from crying. And there was a hint of red at the corner of his dry and chapped lips. Yakov sighed; he already knew this was a fight he could never win.

 

“Then I hope you are prepared for the journalists,” he said as he set down a bag containing bottled mineral water and a few buns on the table beside Viktor; he knew his student would forget to eat or drink in situations like these. He then reminded Viktor of the questions that would be thrown his way, “About your disappearance, about Yuuri, and about your future together.”

 

Viktor nodded, “I am.”

 

* * *

 

 

_“…ri…”_

_“Yuu…”_

_“……Yuu…ri…”_

_“Who …is it?”_ Yuuri was only vaguely aware of the voices floating around him; sometimes in soft whispers and sometimes loud enough to be heard but he could not grasp the words long enough to understand their meaning.

 

_“Where …am I?”_ Yuuri could only lie in wait as the fog in his mind slowly parted to give way to clarity, and he realized that his body was not his to command. _“Am I… dead?”_ he wondered in acceptance of the fate he had chosen for himself but he paused, _“No… I think… I’m… in a dream…?”_

 

_“Yuuri,”_ he could clearly hear a voice piercing the darkness of his mind.

_“…Viktor?”_ Yuuri finally recognized the voice that had been calling him, and he panicked, _“Viktor! Viktor!!”_ He desperately fought for control of his body; to command his eyes to open and to command his legs to carry him and find Viktor, but he could not even feel his own body. There was nothing he could grasp for support; nothing to hold him up; and no one to save him.

_“I still have so many things I want to tell you!”_ he cried as he thought of Viktor’s retreating back at the park, _“I want to tell you that I’m sorry! I want to tell you that I… I love you!!!”_

_“I want to tell you… so many things,”_ he cried as his struggles slowly came to a halt, _“…I want to tell you how I love the way your blue eyes look at me; how your silly grin seemed to mimic a heart shape; how I can recognize your deep and smooth voice anywhere; how I miss your gentle touches that made me feel far safer than Mari ever did.”_

Yuuri whimpered in his mind, _“I want to tell you that I was afraid of holding onto you, if only to lose you later. I want to tell you that I didn’t mean to hurt you.”_

 

“Yuuri?” he could hear his name again and felt the comforting warmth near him, “Yuuri? Can you hear me?”

 

_“Viktor,”_ Yuuri wanted to call out, _“I’m sorry I love you. Can I stay by your side, even if I’m not the Yuuri you knew and loved? …can we start over again… as strangers? I promise I’ll be honest this time. Viktor…can I be selfish enough to ask you to stay by my side?”_

 

“It’s alright if you can’t remember,” he could hear Viktor’s voice by his ear, “I’ll remember us, for your sake.”

In an instant, Yuuri could feel the vast darkness around him began to close in around him, _“…Vik…tor? What do you mean…?”_

 

“I remember you, Yuuri,” he heard Viktor whispered, “Everything about you; all of you. I remember it all so clearly now.”

 

_“No… he remembered,”_ Yuuri realized as he felt himself suffocating in his own mind, _“Why now? I thought we could… start over…”_

 

“Open your eyes, Yuuri,” Viktor called out so gently to him, “There are so many things I want to tell you; where we met, how we danced and fell in love; when we had our first kiss; where we exchanged our engagement rings; and how we made love for the first time. Everything you want to know, I’ll tell you.”

_“I don’t want to know!!”_ Yuuri screamed as he felt hope abandoned him, _“Because Viktor will know I can never be the Yuuri he remembers! Then he’ll– ”_

 

“If you can hear me,” Viktor’s voice was soft and gentle, “Yuuri, open your eyes. Look at me.”

 

Yuuri wanted to say something even in his despair and he tried even as he felt the painful dryness in his throat, “…lea…ve …me?”

 

Viktor looked up from grasping Yuuri’s hands at the sound of the voice, but Yuuri’s eyes were still closed. He shook his head and thought he had imagined hearing Yuuri’s voice until he saw tears slipping down the side of his pale lover’s face. With trembling hand, Viktor reached out to rub the tears away and gently called out to him again, “…Yuuri?”

 

Lips moved and Viktor moved closer to Yuuri as he strained to hear the soft but coarse voice, “…are you… going to… leave… me again…?”

 

“No, Yuuri. I’ll never leave you again. I promise,” Viktor answered as he bent over Yuuri, waiting in anticipation to look into those brown eyes again. He could see movements behind Yuuri’s eyelids and then, almost painstakingly slowly, he finally saw the light flutters from those eyelids that soon revealed the brown colour that he had missed so much. 

 

“But… I’m not,” Yuuri choked on his sobs, “…him.”

 

“…Yuu…?” Viktor stopped when he realized that Yuuri was looking at him, but not seeing him; and he quickly understood that Yuuri was so deep in his thoughts that he had yet to realize he had woken up. Fighting against the desire to bring Yuuri back to reality, Viktor stayed still and turned quiet as he listened to the words that were all bottled up inside his amnesiac lover. He had to let Yuuri speak his mind; he had to know his words.

 

“You …remember him,” Yuuri said as Viktor’s heart squeezed at the anguish he saw in those eyes, “I’m not him… I can’t be …him. I can’t… remember. I tried…”

 

“…but I …love you,” he fought to speak, “…can I …love you? …can I …take the love… you have… for him… for myself? …will you love …me … the same way… you… loved him? …will you… kiss me… like that time… again? Vik–”

 

Viktor could not hold himself back any longer. He kissed Yuuri; and the kiss pricked them both from the dryness of their chapped lips but Viktor only wished for his love to reach his husband. He cupped Yuuri’s face and kissed his lips repeatedly even after he could taste the saltiness of their tears in the kisses. Viktor sobbed, “Yes, I’ll kiss you… Yes, I’ll love you… Everything you want from me, it’s yours.”

 

“Vik…tor?” life returned into Yuuri’s eyes and he finally realized that he had been looking up at Viktor.

 

“I’m here, Yuuri,” Viktor smiled at him.

 

_“I said it out loud? All those thoughts…?! He’ll know how selfish I am!”_ Yuuri panicked and stuttered, “I… sor–”

 

“No,” Viktor cut him off and hugged him, “I won’t let you say you’re sorry. I won’t let you apologize for what you’ve just said …because I finally know what you’ve been thinking all these time.” His arms around Yuuri tightened as he apologized, “I’m sorry, Yuuri, for leaving you to those thoughts all alone when I should have been here to love you as your husband.”

 

Yuuri was quiet but his weak fingers clutched tightly onto Viktor’s sleeves, as if he was stopping himself from lying to both of them again.

 

“I know I was not the husband I should have been to you since the crash,” Viktor spoke cautiously when he released his hold on Yuuri to look at him in the eyes. With tremulous voice, he continued, “Can you forgive me for all that I’ve done? Will you let me make amends for everything that had gone wrong between us? Will you let me stay by your side again?”

 

Yuuri saw the pain and regret in Viktor’s eyes, begging and waiting in fear for an answer; and Yuuri did not want to hold himself back with more lies and fake courtesy, no matter how selfish he would sound. Tears blurred his vision as he spoke his heart’s desire, “I… wanted you to… stay… since France… Hasetsu … at the park… even now… I want you… to always… stay…Viktor, please… don’t… leave me.”

 

“Never,” he promised as he reached forward, “I’ll never leave you again.”

 

Viktor’s strong arms felt constricting around him, but Yuuri could not stop his tears when he understood that the strength in Viktor’s arms was proof that he accepted all of him; his selfishness, his lies and his love.

 

“Yuuri?!” a voice gasped and Yuuri’s eyes glanced over Viktor’s shoulder to see his sister at the door. She looked relieved at first, but anger slowly showed on her face. The guilt of putting her through pain overwhelmed him that he instantly hid his face closer to Viktor’s neck; and Viktor, knowing what would come next, shifted his body just in time to shield Yuuri from Mari’s barrage of angry punches.

 

“Why did you do this to us, Yuuri?!” Mari asked as the thumps from her harmless punches reverberated through Viktor’s body and into Yuuri’s heart.

 

“I’m sorry!” Yuuri’s voice was muffled by Viktor’s jersey.

 

“We promised to be there for you, Yuuri. Why didn’t you talk to us?” Mari cried.

 

“I’m… sorry,” Yuuri could only apologize.

 

“We’re your family!” Mari said.

 

“It’s because you are family that he couldn’t tell you!” Viktor burst out, clutching his precious lover to himself, “He could not bring himself tell you that he had been enduring months of confusion and frustration behind his smiles when all you have been giving him was kindness and love. He is terrified of betraying your expectation for him to remember the past. He fears the looks and the whispers even before he realizes it himself, and it kept eating at his mind, because he didn’t want to lose the family and home he was allowed to call his.”

 

“How… did you… know?” Yuuri asked, his eyes glistened again when he looked up at his protector, who was now gently caressing his face with a soft smile.

 

“Because I know everything about you,” he answered, “Even the dangerous way you think.” Viktor kissed his forehead and assured him, “Everything that is being given to you, is yours, Yuuri. You don’t need to be afraid of accepting everything we have to give, because we would never leave you.”

 

“I can’t be …him,” Yuuri choked on his sobs as his voice croaked, “What if… I’m not him? What if… he is out there? What if… he comes back…?”

 

“You are Katsuki Yuuri,” Viktor told him with unwavering determination.

 

“How can… I know?” Yuuri was still in disbelief at the person inside this body he inhabit, even though Viktor had wholly accepted him.

 

Viktor released his firm hold on Yuuri to touch a spot on the right side of his neck, where a prominent love bite once took more than a month to fully heal. Yuuri could feel the area throbbed under Viktor’s finger as he locked eyes with the blue eyes that he fell in love with. Viktor said, “I did this.”

 

His words echoed in Yuuri’s mind and he thought he could almost feel the faintest touch of a breeze in the depths of his dark mind.

 

“And this,” Viktor’s finger slid down Yuuri’s neck to touch the skin on his collarbone.

 

“And this,” he swiped his finger to the right and rested on his shoulder.

 

“And this,” he stopped just beside the right nipple.

 

“And this,” he moved his finger up to the chest on the left side.

 

“And this,” he paused his finger by the side of the ribcage.

 

“And this,” his finger dropped below the navel.

 

Every touch and every word Viktor uttered seemed to blow away the darkness that had shrouded Yuuri’s mind ever since he woke up. He memorized the marks on his body before they faded, and reminded himself of them in the mirror every morning as proof that he once had a past; but no one could prove that he was Katsuki Yuuri, not until now. Yuuri looked up at Viktor, and resolved to put all of his trust in this man who called himself his husband. But a single dark cloud returned to his mind almost as soon as the darkness was lifted.

 

“…and,” Viktor’s voice quivered as his fingers ghosted over the bandage on Yuuri’s thigh, “This.”

 

Yuuri quickly grabbed Viktor’s hand away from his legs with trembling hands. He heaved and gasped at the realization that he had caused Viktor pain; the squeeze in his heart stung much more deeply than the cuts on his thighs when he heard Viktor’s devastated voice at this moment. He tried to find words to apologize, or to make excuses but Viktor freed his hand to cup his husband’s face, and forced Yuuri to only look at him. And he saw in those brown eyes, the hope he had just kindled to life dimmed again.

 

“Yuuri, I was the one who left these marks on you,” Viktor admitted, and in his own despair, he asked, “How else can I prove to you that you are Katsuki Yuuri? That you are the person I’ve chosen to spend the rest of my life with? That you are the same person I’ve vowed to love and to cherish, even in death?”  

 

Yuuri’s eyes widened at Viktor’s vow, as if he had heard fragments of those words from the depths of his forgotten memories. He shook his head and ignored the doubt in his mind. He smiled as he lied, despite the tears that were falling again, “I _am_ Katsuki Yuuri.”

 

But all Viktor could see next was the shame in Yuuri’s eyes when his hand covered his, and touched the wedding ring on his finger. He never asked if Yuuri knew about the ring he had left behind in Hasetsu, but before he could ask, Yuuri said softly, “I… couldn’t wear it.”

 

“It’s your ring, Yuuri,” Viktor assured him, understanding what his fragile lover meant when he longingly touched and stared at their wedding ring. He explained to him, “It didn’t fit because you lost so much weight.”

 

“…but… I lost it,” Yuuri sobbed when he could not recall where he dropped the ring, “…I’m sorry…” 

 

Mari found her voice again at Yuuri’s choked sobs. She had been observing the two lovers in both embarrassment at listening to the most private of conversations, and was filled with regret that she could never have understood or soothed Yuuri’s worries the way Viktor just did. She had only ever known to be there for him whenever he wanted to talk, and never tried to force him to talk. She gave him as much space as he needed, but failed to realize that she had left him to his loneliness in her misplaced kind consideration.

 

“Yuuri, here,” Mari walked closer to them and gently made her presence known to the two lovers again. She held out Yuuri’s wedding ring on her palm, and said, “We found it under the drawers in your hotel room.”

 

“Mari… thank you…” Yuuri gasped as he reached out for his ring with trembling hand. But a larger hand covered his, and Yuuri stopped to turn to Viktor, who smiled sadly at him.

 

He asked, “Yuuri, may I?”

 

Yuuri could not deny his request when he could see Viktor’s blue eyes gleamed with unshed tears. He was silent as his eyes followed Viktor’s long and pale fingers picked up the wedding ring from Mari’s open palm. Yuuri held his breath when Viktor slide the ring on the fourth finger of his right hand, the same hand where Viktor wore his ring. But the dark doubt that lingered in his mind became fueled with fear when Yuuri registered the weight of the platinum ring in his now trembling hand; it was lighter compared to the ghostly weight his finger had remembered, and the circular band was thinner than the mark that had faded since his stay at the hospital in France. He knew at once that his was a different ring, and he looked at his husband, in hope of a truthful answer.

 

Viktor noticed that Yuuri seemed to be lost in his own thoughts, as if he about to deny their wedding rings. He held Yuuri’s hands tightly in fear that Yuuri would shrink away from him. He called out to him, “Yuuri? What is it?”

 

“…It’s not this…” Yuuri answered honestly, “…It feels different …This isn’t my ring, …is it?”

 

His growing doubt reactivated the anxiety-stricken mind of his that once led him to choose death over hope within a split second. Now, that same mind was preparing Yuuri to not be surprised if the lie was finally out; that the past he came to know about Katsuki Yuuri’s life was not real; that this new life he had been living was a lie. But before he could drown any further and doomed himself again, Yuuri saw the gentle smile on Viktor’s face, as if he understood his dilemma.

 

“Now I know why I went back to Saint Petersburg for these,” Viktor said as he reached into his jersey’s pocket to retrieve a small black gift box, and placed it in Yuuri’s hand. He undid the clasp to reveal two golden rings resting side by side; it was the engagement rings they had worn as fiancés.

 

“What you felt, Yuuri,” Viktor took one of the rings and slip it onto Yuuri’s finger again, “Was the weight of the love we wore for the past two years.”

 

Yuuri stared at the golden band on his finger; it was slightly loose but still a better fit than their wedding ring. But most importantly, the new weight on his finger felt exactly like the phantom weight his body had remembered. The darkness instantly vanished from his mind and Yuuri’s heart felt lighter than it had ever been; and then, as if out of an old habit from the past, he raised his hand to kiss both his rings. When he looked up at Viktor again, his brown eyes gleamed with trust and love as Viktor held out the other ring to him.

 

“Will you put this on me again, Yuuri?” Viktor asked.

 

Without any hesitation, Yuuri took the golden ring and slipped it onto Viktor’s finger. He continued to hold onto Viktor’s hand, admiring the rings that adorned both their fingers before he pressed a kiss onto Viktor’s rings. A soft click startled Yuuri then, but when he looked around the room, he finally noticed that Mari was nowhere in the room.

 

“Yuuri,” Viktor pulled his lover’s attention back to him with a kiss on the lips. The agonizingly gentle kiss slowly turned passionate and heated, and Yuuri could feel himself sinking deeper into the bed when Viktor climbed over him. They only parted for breaths and even then, Viktor was peppering Yuuri’s lips and face with kisses and whispered “I love you” with every chance he got.

 

“I love you, Viktor,” Yuuri smiled as he lifted his head up a little to brush his nose with Viktor’s.

 

“I love you too, Yuuri,” Viktor smiled back and kissed him again. He could hear Yuuri’s soft moans in the kiss, and he realized just how much he missed his husband; the moans vibrating in their kisses, his warm touches, his gentle voice calling his name…

 

_“Vitka. Call me Vitka, Yuuri,”_ Viktor begged in his mind, but he said nothing of it, only whispered in his mind, _“Call me Vitenka again.”_

 

“Viktor…?” Yuuri noticed the sudden silence, and Viktor’s faraway stare.

 

But before Yuuri could prod further, Viktor suddenly turned away from him to hastily pull the curtain and shielded the two of them from the cameras that began clicking as soon as the door to the ward was forcibly slid open; it shut back again almost immediately by someone out of their sight.

 

“…what is…?!” Yuuri gasped sharply and clutched tightly onto Viktor’s arms.

 

“Journalists,” Viktor answered him, and gave him a short peck to the lips before resting his forehead on Yuuri’s for a few brief seconds.

 

“Viktor…?” he felt the air in the room changed, and he gulped in fearful uncertainty.

 

“I’m sorry, Yuuri. I know you might not be ready for this,” Viktor began, “But whatever you decide, Yuuri, please understand that I will respect it. And I will support you with everything I have.”

 

“…What do you… mean?” Yuuri’s voice was still hoarse, but the quiver in his voice was apparent.

 

“Your career as a competitive figure skater,” Viktor reminded him, “You need to decide if you want to retire …or to continue.”

 

Yuuri gasped and his breaths quickened at the realization that the deadline to decide his future was due, and he still had not come to a decision. If he had only listened to the advice of his doctors, then the decision would have been an easy one to make; but Yuuri took in every opinion available to him, and became burdened with the huge expectation of returning to figure skating; a sport he had no knowledge, nor memories, of. As clueless as he was, even Yuuri realized that he would sully the champion Katsuki Yuuri’s achievements with his new failures, and he knew he could never live with the guilt of tarnishing that track record. But he also could not let his amnesia be the reason for a disgraceful downfall of a champion.

 

So Yuuri reluctantly came to a hasty decision and said, “I’ll cont—”

 

“Yuuri!” Viktor interrupted him as soon as he heard the uncertainty in Yuuri’s voice and knew that Yuuri was not making the decision for his own sake. If so, he would rather Yuuri make a decision for his sake than for anyone else’s. So he begged him, “Please… think it through properly.”

 

“Viktor…” Yuuri looked up at the man in front of him; a man he knew to be a world renowned figure skater, and the reigning Russian champion; just as he was for Japan. _“What would Viktor do if he were in my stead?”_ he wondered, but quickly recalled that Viktor was still in the sport even after losing his memories in the wreck, _“…he didn’t retire… how could I retire? That’s… too selfish of me.”_

 

“Yuuri, I’m here for you. You can ask me anything,” Viktor tried to fill the silence between them and hinted at Yuuri to ask for his advice; because only then would he get the chance to selfishly advise him to retire.

 

“I can’t… retire,” Yuuri said regretfully, and Viktor felt the shiver coming from Yuuri on his arms.

 

“Athletes retire all the time, Yuuri,” Viktor tried to convince him, “There is no shame in retiring.”

 

Then, Yuuri found words he never knew nor understood, “But…I want to… skate with …you.”

 

Even if Yuuri had no memories of those words he had just spoken, hearing it was enough for Viktor to know that Yuuri still remembered him, deep inside. Viktor truthfully explained to him, “As your coach, I will support your decision. But you must understand that there will be much to train for, and you will fall often. You might even suffer permanent injuries before you can accomplish anything.”

 

Yuuri hesitated before he nodded indecisively, and Viktor’s heart broke at the thought of seeing him limping around their home, or worse, lying paralyzed on a bed without any expression on his face. His voice trembled as he pushed his selfishness onto Yuuri, “But as your husband, I can’t bear to see you hurt again. I want you safe, Yuuri. I want you to retire.”

 

“Once is enough,” Viktor recalled the overpowering fear that gripped his soul when he watched blood dripped off his unconscious husband while they were trapped in the train wreck. “I’ve done too much to hurt you,” he remembered the way Yuuri looked away from him in Hasetsu, in fear and devastation; and he could still hear Yuuri choking and clinging to life in his arms mere hours ago. He leaned down to tightly embrace Yuuri and broke down, “…I can’t lose you again. Yuuri, please… I only want you to come home, with me.”

 

The decision Yuuri had agonizingly mulled over for months suddenly became clear to him as he reached out to brush away the tears from his husband’s eyes, “Then, I’ll retire.”

 

_“For you, Viktor… I’d do anything,”_ Yuuri smiled when Viktor stared at him with widened eyes, almost in disbelief. So he said to his husband, “Viktor, I want to go home… our home.”

 

With a nod, Viktor choked out his reply, “Let’s go home, Yuuri.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Birthday to Viktor Nikiforov~!!!  
> And Merry Christmas & Happy New Year!!


	8. To Love You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love my beta. She has been a superwoman in pointing out all the errors in this chapter!! She keeps the plot of this fanfic straight XD

 

It was Morooka Hisashi who arrived just in time to save Mari and distracted the journalists and fans from barging into Yuuri’s room. His timely arrival momentarily drew the crowd’s attention for a brief moment and gave Mari the chance to shut the door and guard the handle with her life. No words were spoken between the two, but a nod perfectly conveyed her gratitude. After a few words, the spokesperson led the crowd down to the lobby and Mari was left to glare daggers at a few eager fans who still lingered at the hallway until they reluctantly left, except one.

 

“Um…,” a young woman slowly approached Mari, whose grip on the door handle never loosened. But Mari thought the stranger seemed familiar, and she soon recognized the shy dark-haired lady as the house keeping staff from the hotel they were staying in. The young woman fidgeted on her feet as she mumbled and stuttered, “I-I am a-a fan! I-I mean! I’m from the hotel! I-We are w-worried and… i-is Mr. Yuuri a-alright?!”

 

Mari smiled and reached out for those tightly clasped fists. She said gently, “I heard what you did for Yuuri from the manager. He is fine now, and it’s all thanks to you.”

 

Tears ran down her face as she heaved a huge sigh of relief and said, “I’m glad to hear that. When Mr. Viktor came barging in and dragged me to the room, I had no idea what was going on but he looked so desperate and I heard coughs, then I panicked but I told myself to calm down and open the door but then I saw Mr. Yuuri lying there and I didn’t know what to do at all, so I called for the ambulance and then ran outside to report it to my manager.”  

 

“You did well,” Mari assured the poor girl’s nerves, “Thank you.”

 

The young woman calmed down and she smiled, “I’m so glad he is okay. I really am. I’ve been an avid fan for a few years and even sent him Valentine’s Day chocolate this year. But it’s not like I hope to get together with him or anything because he has Mr. Viktor and all. It’s just that… I wanted him to know that there are fans who love and support him even when he does not skate.”

 

“I’m sure he got your chocolate,” Mari lied rather confidently; she was the one who signed off for the bulks of chocolate delivery at the resort’s entrance during Valentine’s season on Yuuri’s behalf, and later sent them away to charitable organizations for children.

 

Her amnesiac little brother learned about the significance of chocolates and Valentine’s Day when they first started to arrive, but he was unwilling to accept the chocolates and begged for Mari’s help. After she told him that they usually donate the chocolates, Yuuri asked her handle everything; but he never knew how much chocolates came his way because even the chocolates sent to Ice Castle Hasetsu were rerouted by Yuuko to orphanages and kindergartens. They were sure of one thing about those chocolates, and it was “ **A LOT OF CHOCOLATES** ”.  

 

 _“Could a mountain of chocolate change what had happened?”_ Mari wondered if Yuuri would have felt better knowing he was loved even by people who did not know him personally.

 

“And,” the young woman distracted Mari from her thoughts, “I can imagine how this incident is going to cause an uproar in the figure skating community and especially among the fans. I just want you to know that our hotel has a policy not to disclose incidents such as this. So, please, rest assured that we will never say a word about Mr. Yuuri’s suicide attempt. And, as an individual, I promise to keep the truth only to myself.”

 

“Thank you,” Mari smiled and said, “We’ll be eternally grateful to you if you could keep this a secret.”

 

The young woman nodded in agreement and turned to leave. As Mari watched her retreating back, the ward’s door slid open and Mari instinctively grabbed the handle, only to look up at Viktor’s tear-stricken face. She sighed in relief, “Oh, it’s you. I thought someone tried to sneak in.”

 

 “It’s just me, fortunately,” Viktor managed to give her a faint smile and realized that Mari was the one who had shut the door earlier to protect Yuuri from the eyes of preying journalists and fans. He bowed slightly, “Thank you, Mari. You bought us some time.”

 

“Hey, I only guarded the door,” Mari replied, “You should thank Hisashi for drawing them away.”

 

“…have they left?” Viktor asked.

 

“I can’t be too sure but they went towards the lobby,” she answered, “Knowing Hisashi, he might still be speaking to them right now.”

 

“Then I need to join him,” the Russian said but he paused to look at his husband’s sister, “…Mari?”

 

“Hm?” she was perplexed.

 

Viktor grew hesitant, but Mari was family and she deserves the right to know about Yuuri’s decision before the whole world. So he steeled himself, “Yuuri chose to retire… and he wants to go home… to Saint Petersburg.”

 

“…I see,” Mari put up a strong front at that sudden announcement, even though she wholeheartedly accepted the part about Yuuri’s retirement. It was their parents’ wish, and hers too.

 

Viktor could see the despair beneath her mask, and he quickly added, “I swear on my life that I will take care of him.”

 

“I know you will,” she scoffed and reminded him, “Just make sure he calls home once a while.”

 

But before Viktor could take another step for the lobby, Mari grabbed him by the sleeve to press a packet of tissue into his hand, and advised him, “Go wash your face. You look like you just cried the day away.”

 

It was the truth, but Viktor pouted and joked, “Hey, Yuuri said I looked handsome just two minutes ago.”

 

“Of course you look handsome,” Mari rolled her eyes, “You’d still be handsome in his eyes even if you’ve just landed into a ditch. Now go be the handsome coach that Yuuri deserves.”

 

“Thanks, Mari,” Viktor’s smile was wider now, “Keep Yuuri company while I’m away, will you? …I think he wants to speak to you.”

 

“Got it,” Mari nodded as she stepped into the ward.

 

Yuuri was putting on his glasses when he heard the door slid close and its lock clicked in place. He called out to his sister just as she approached him, “Mari, hi.”

 

“Hey there, Yuuri,” Mari answered and tried to mask the awkwardness she felt after her violent outburst earlier. The siblings fell silent until Yuuri’s sniffle broke the tense air. Mari took a better look at his face, and realized that it was a mess of tears and snot.

 

“Oh, that stupid husband of yours!” Mari exaggerated her scoff and searched for the box of tissue inside the cabinet by his bed. She passed Yuuri the box and when she caught him coughing his gratitude, she complained, “He didn’t even get you a drink?!”

 

Yuuri shook his head as he snickered, “No, Mari. He hasn’t.” He tried not to laugh as he wiped the remnant of his tears away and blew his nose. When he looked up again, Mari was already holding a glass of water in her hands. He accepted the drink and as he took the first sip, the warm water almost felt like fire burning his throat; but he pressed on to take larger gulps of water, trying to wet every spot in his mouth and throat. Yuuri passed the glass to Mari for more and drank again until water finally tasted like the elixir of youth again.

 

Mari sighed as she grumbled and set aside the glass, “And he just told me that he will take care of you in Russia. How reliable!”

 

Yuuri laughed, but his laughter died down almost too quickly. He looked into her eyes and said, “Thank you, Mari …and… I’m sorry.”

 

Mari was glad her ranting managed to lighten up the tension between them, but there were words she needed to say too. She mirrored his words, “I’m sorry too, Yuuri… I failed you.”

 

“Don’t be,” Yuuri shook his head and timidly reached for her hand, “You are the best sister I could ever ask for.”

 

“I’m also the worst sister you have, you know?” Mari beat herself down, “Since you have no one to compare me with…”

 

“Mari…” Yuuri could see how his action had torn his sister apart. Tears came back to flood his eyes and he whimpered, “I’m so sorry.”

 

“I was so scared, Yuuri,” Mari told him, “You had no idea how panicked we were in the streets. Minako, Phichit and I fought against the morning rush hour traffic at the train stations and when we got back to the hotel, you were already rushed to the hospital. I didn’t know what to think.”

 

“…I’m sorry,” was all Yuuri could say, and the silence that followed grew heavier.

 

“Hey, Yuuri,” Mari’s voice was sorrowful as she asked, “Did we push you too hard?”

 

He wanted to deny it and lift the burden on his sister’s heart but he knew he would only hurt her with his lie. Instead, Yuuri told her half the truth, “I pushed myself too hard… because I didn’t like not remembering and not knowing. I didn’t want to be a burden.”

 

“You are never a burden,” Mari assured him, and added, “Sure, you would be a pain in the ass of a brother sometimes, but never a burden. You are my family, Yuuri, and no matter where you choose to live in this world, I will always have your back.”

 

“…even in Russia?” Yuuri asked timidly.

 

“Even in Russia,” she repeated affirmatively with nod, and then she snickered, “If you need a break from Viktor, you can always come home.”

 

Yuuri blushed with a faint smile, accepting the love that was being given to him. But his next question trailed off silently, “Have I ever…?”

 

“…fought with Viktor and came home pouting?” Mari finished the sentence and her uneasy brother gave a slight nod. She answered him, “Never.”

 

His body relaxed almost instantly at her answer. He read that arguments were inevitable in every relationships, but throwing himself into a relationship he remembered nothing of, and in a foreign country seemed to be an entirely different situation. His head spun with newfound worries, _“I need to learn Russian, but can I still use English there? How fast can I adapt to Viktor’s country? How does his… our… home… look like? Will we go back to live our normal lives? What was normal like? What was our mornings like? The afternoons? Evenings? …nights?”_

 

He was so absorbed in his thoughts that Yuuri did not hear Mari walking away to unlock the door, until a voice whispered into his ear, “I know that look.”

 

“!!!” Yuuri shrieked and looked up at Viktor, who winked at him with a smirk plastered across his face.

 

“I’m glad you’re looking well, Yuuri,” Hisashi said, oblivious to Yuuri’s blush, “You gave us quite the scare there.”

 

“..ah! uhm… I,” Yuuri tried to shake the bedroom thoughts away from his head, and to bring his attention back to the present; but all he could come up with was, “…I-I’m sorry.”

 

“Yuuri,” Viktor called out to him as he reached for Yuuri’s trembling hands, “I know you hate to keep on lying to everyone but we need to hide your … this… from the news.” Viktor avoided using the words ‘attempted suicide’; it was almost hurtful to relate Yuuri to those two words.

 

Yuuri noticed the missing words; but he only nodded as he grasped the importance of his past self’s reputation. Viktor then drew a breath to recollect himself and continued, “If anyone asks, you will admit that you disobeyed the doctors’ warnings. You tried to train and skate despite your injury and took numerous falls, one of which landed you here in this hospital. With the time you spent resting, you thought long and hard about your career and decided that your time in the sport has come to an end.”

 

Yuuri memorized the lie that he would tell, but there was another point to make certain. He asked, “What of my amnesia?”

 

“They only know your memories were affected in the train incident,” Hisashi answered, “Word got out that you might have lost your memories but we managed to convince the journalists that your amnesia was a temporary form of PTSD.”

 

“I… see,” Yuuri looked gloomy, “So I… still need to pretend that I remember…”

 

“Don’t worry,” Viktor’s grip tightened, “Just like in Japan, journalists or paparazzi are not allowed to spy on us in Russia. We have the rights to our own privacy.”

 

“But your fans might stalk,” Mari reminded him, “They know where your apartment is.”

 

“…right,” Viktor deeply regretted listing their apartment for sale on a panicked impulse. Even though the listing had been retracted, there was no stopping the fan letters from overflowing his mail box, or the growing number of fans camping outside the apartment’s compounds just to catch a glimpse of him. The apartment’s security personnels had been more than helpful in forcibly requesting everyone to leave the premise at first, but as the horde of fans grew aggressive from their stubbornness, Viktor was advised to file a police report. But he did not want to put anyone in trouble with the law, and so he kindly begged his fans to respect his private life. Luckily, his message got through to the fans and they slowly dissipated and dwindled down to a few loitering fans, but none of them bothered him for photographs or autographs anymore.

 

Hisashi suggested, “You could get another apartment.”

 

“No,” Viktor immediately rejected the idea, and turned to Yuuri with a smile, “That apartment is our home. If anyone comes near, I’ll manage it.”

 

“…alright,” Mari stopped Hisashi from protesting, “Well, anyway, after Yuuri is discharged, he can go home to pack for Saint Petersburg but Viktor, what about your flight?”

 

“It’s fine,” Viktor answered, “I still have a few days before I fly back.”

 

“That’s …odd,” she hummed suspiciously.

 

“Y-Yeah, I…” Viktor stammered, “I spared a few days…”

 

“Okay! That’s great then,” she smirked without pestering for more information and looked at her brother, “And… we need to get you your flight ticket to Saint Petersburg.”

 

“I’ll arrange for it,” Viktor volunteered, “I can get us seated together.”  

 

Mari nodded, and Yuuri blushed. He mumbled softly, “…thank you.”

 

“Anything for you,” Viktor replied with a nod, and he was tempted to kiss Yuuri again for blushing but he was interrupted by knocks and voices outside the door. Mari did a quick interrogation at the door before she unlocked it to allow Phichit into the room. Following closely behind him was Yuri Plisetsky, who stopped at the door to whisper something to Mari and sent her out of the room in a rush.

 

“Yuuri!” Phichit beamed at his friend but Yuuri immediately noticed that they were wearing their exhibition costumes underneath their jerseys and had their makeup and hair done.

 

“What time is it?” Yuuri blurted as his eyes widened in fear of a realization he could not imagine. For the first time, he realized that the windows were shielded by the curtains and he had no way of telling the time; and Viktor looked horribly unprepared for the exhibition.

 

“It’s after 6 PM,” the Thai boy answered when Viktor became silent.

 

“…the exhibition!” Yuuri exclaimed and panicked. He remembered the time of the exhibition: 4 PM.

 

“It has ended, Yuuri,” Viktor told him softly, “I didn’t go.”

 

“But! You’re!” he breathed heavily, “I’m so sorry! It’s my fault! I-”

 

“I chose to stay with you,” Viktor calmed him as he gently cupped Yuuri’s face so he would only look at him, “Because you are far more important to me than a medal.”

 

“I’m… sorry,” Yuuri could only whisper in return and averted his eyes from meeting Viktor’s.

 

“But you’ve really done it this time, Viktor, you asshole,” the Russian Yuri grumbled, “You have no idea how much trouble you’ve put Yakov through. The old man was swamped by journalists as soon as they realized you were nowhere in the stadium! His phone never stopped ringing and he had to answer to the entire Russian Skating Federation!”

 

“…sorry,” the whisper came softly from the culprit behind everything that had happened. The blonde Russian gold medalist turned to the newly retired Japanese figure skater; his anger was growing insuppressible.  

 

“Oi, Katsudon! I told you Viktor needed you!” Yuri’s voice grew louder, “Why did you sit away from us?!”

 

“Yuri! Enough!” Viktor interrupted, “Not now, please.”

 

The hot-headed youngster argued, “But Viktor! You could have ended your contract with that gold! Instead you lost it to me because you flopped the last jump! If Yuuri was with you, then you wouldn’t–”

 

“He was!” Viktor insisted, and his junior became speechless. He turned to glare at the man who shared his name.

 

“I’m… sorry,” Yuuri’s guilt felt heavy under the intensity of the champion’s scowl, but Viktor’s gentle smile was comforting. Yuuri thought regretfully, _“Maybe… if I had looked for him, he wouldn’t be so surprised.”_

 

“You were right there, looking at me, cheering for me,” Viktor said as he rubbed his lover’s cheek. He then explained to his Russian junior, “I was the one who got distracted. I made that fall. I don’t deserve the gold medal for my own mistake.”

 

“But you don’t have much time left, Viktor!” Yuri reminded him and the Russian legend fell silent.

 

“H-Hey, what’s all this contract and gold medal and time-limit stuff about?” Phichit awkwardly interrupted them. He remembered something Viktor said earlier the day that never made sense to him. He asked, “What’s going on? Is this about Viktor going to jail?”  

 

“Jail?!” Hisashi repeated in shock. In all his years of being privy to rumours and gossips of all sorts every day at his job from being a journalist, to an announcer, and now a spokesperson, he had never heard a whisper of this piece of information. This was grave news to him and no one was giving him answers.

 

Viktor was the one who spoke up, “Homosexuality has been recriminalized in Russia. And it was because of me.”

 

He could recall the headline on the front page of the newspaper he glimpsed at Pulkovo International Airport as soon as both Yuuri and he landed in Saint Petersburg to avoid journalists two years ago. He thought they would be safe in Russia but the country had drastically changed while he was away for one short year. Viktor continued to explain, “The conservatives used my relationship with Yuuri to smear my status as a national athlete. They concocted lies to push for their agenda against homosexuality in the parliament …and they won.”  

 

“But before I could send Yuuri back to Japan, I was secretly arrested,” Viktor looked at Yuuri, “Then you wouldn’t leave me. You stayed with me in the only way you could, all alone in a foreign country, and begged Yakov to talk to anyone who could help.”

 

Yuuri helplessly gazed back at Viktor as he continued, “When Yakov got in touch with a pro-LGBT politician, you went with him and struggled to speak to the man in Russian. He was moved by your efforts and offered to help us, but Yuuri, he is still a politician with agendas. All that mattered to him and his party is to make Russia look a little more forgiving in the eyes of the world. That’s why, he pulled every string he could to keep my arrest under wraps and leveraged my status as a world champion with the President of Russia to grant me a pardon.” 

 

“But I need to earn it, the pardon,” Viktor clarified, “The conditions are to reign as the national champion and world champion for the next three years. I only need one more gold medal to fulfill my side of the deal before the pardon will be signed, and then we can be free again.”

 

 _“Just one more,”_ Yuuri’s mind spun, _“If only I–”_

 

“I will win it in the next Grand Prix Final,” Viktor said as he squeezed Yuuri’s hands, but Yuuri saw the flash of fear behind his husband’s hopeful blue eyes. He knew Viktor was trying to convince himself when he reiterated, “I can win it. Because you are with me.”

 

Yuuri squeezed Viktor’s trembling hands in return and told himself, _“Viktor wants me with him. He needs me. I have to be… strong… for his sake. I can’t… disappoint… him. It’s the least I could do, to take the responsibility for his falling to third place.”_

 

And Yuuri was determined to hold onto that distorted conviction as he nodded at his champion husband. He repeated the words in his mind, _“For you… I’d do anything.”_

 

A series of knocks unexpectedly echoed in the room, breaking the tense moment. A gruff voice then called out from beyond the door, “Open up, it’s me.”

 

Being the one closest to it, Hisashi moved to unlock the door. Yuuri instantly recognized the broad man who walked in with his sister: Viktor’s coach, Yakov Feltsman. His fingers went cold in his nervousness as his mind failed to find the appropriate words to say. His fear screamed, _“What am I supposed to say to him?!”_

 

Viktor noticed the drop in temperature from Yuuri’s hands. He wordlessly stroke his husband’s smaller hand with his thumb, to reassure him of his presence, but Yuuri stiffened when Yakov stopped by his bed. He said, “I’ve met the doctor with your sister. Yuuri, you will need to see the psychiatrist tomorrow before the hospital can discharge you. And arrangements will be made for you to undergo therapy once a week in Saint Petersburg with a psychiatrist I am familiar with.”

 

Yuuri did not understand the sideway glance Yakov threw at Viktor, who looked away from his own coach almost in guilt. But Yuuri realized that he had to say something to the older man. He had to thank him but the only words his brain could muster right now was, “…I’m sorry.”

 

“I’d prefer a ‘thank you’,” Yakov scoffed at the weak man.

 

Yuuri lowered his head in shame at his own mental weakness and softly repeated, “…thank you.”

 

Yakov’s heart softened at the effort the troublesome young man tried to exert but he quickly changed the mood to hide the sympathy he had for him. He sternly reprimanded Viktor, “As for you, I can’t believe you waltzed right into a press conference with a bruised lip.”

 

“It wasn’t that obvious, Yakov,” Viktor argued and instinctively pulled away when Yuuri’s fingers reached up to touch his visibly red lip.

 

 _“How did I overlook this?”_ Yuuri asked himself. He did not have his glasses on before, but he thought he should have noticed it when Viktor returned. He cursed, _“Why am I always so selfish?”_

 

“It was me. I punched Viktor,” Phichit confessed as soon as he saw the remorseful look on Yuuri’s face, but he would never regret his action, “But I won’t apologize.”  

 

 _“…Phichit?”_ Yuuri was confused as he saw the pain in his friend’s face, _“Why?”_

 

“No, I won’t seek an apology for something I deserved,” Viktor said, “And I deserved much more than a mere punch.”

 

Having heard the entire story from Phichit hours ago, the Russian punk scoffed, “If it was me, it wouldn’t have been just ONE punch.”

 

The room fell silent; divided between those who knew or could guess what had happened from those who didn’t. And Yuuri, being the only clueless one, finally asked, “…what happened?”

 

There was no pain or jealousy on Viktor’s face when he smiled at Yuuri next and told him, “Yuuri, you have friends and family who loves you, and would do anything to protect you. That’s what happened.”

 

Yuuri managed to grasp the situation from the vague explanation, and he quickly became aware of the need to clear Viktor’s name. He frantically pleaded with Phichit and everyone else, “It’s not his fault! Please! Don’t blame him for what I did to myself. Viktor saved me!”

 

Everyone clammed up. They recognized Viktor’s unwitting role in Yuuri’s attempted suicide, but they also knew Yuuri would never think of him as a villain. And they wondered if they were the villains in both their minds; they could have told them the truth from the very beginning; they never should have separated them; they should have spent more time with Yuuri. The many possibilities of better outcomes swirled in their individual minds as they all looked away in shame.

 

But Viktor accepted his wrongdoings, and tried to calm his husband, “Yuuri, I said those words to you. I put you in this situation.”

 

“But you didn’t mean it…” Yuuri trailed off even as his mind recalled the Viktor’s words from yesterday. As much as his rational brain could sympathize with the frustration behind those words, his heart could not help reliving the agony. He clutched onto Viktor’s sleeves to hide his pain, and insisted, “…it was all me.”

 

“Yuuri, don’t take the blame,” Viktor begged, “Let me atone for everything I’ve done to you.”  

 

“But you already have,” Yuuri cried, “You’re here.”

 

“And I will always be here,” Viktor assured him as he leaned forward to pull Yuuri into a tight embrace to soothe the ache in both their hearts. When Yuuri took a deep breath and relaxed into his arms, Viktor felt significantly lighter, and he smiled to himself.  

 

The old coach faked a cough then, and the two of them realized again that they were not completely alone in the room. They broke apart in haste. Yakov spoke, “Hate to break the moment but Vitya still needs to train for the Grand Prix. Don’t expect him to be with you every second of the day.”

 

“…r-right!” Yuuri stammered.

 

“Yakov,” Viktor called out to his coach, and by the tone of his calm and determined voice, Yakov knew he was in for another quarrel. He prepared his old heart as the Russian champion proceeded to announce, “I am taking two-weeks off training, starting tomorrow.”

 

That was not unexpected, but Yakov had to disagree. He reminded him sternly, “Vitya, you know what’s at stake. You cannot afford a break now, even on your off-season.”

 

“I need it now,” Viktor insisted, “More than ever.”

 

“Vitya!” Yakov began to argue.

 

“I’m taking Yuuri home!” Viktor reminded him, “And this time, I’m not leaving him trapped inside an apartment in a country he doesn’t remember, all alone, again.” Yakov backed down at the memory of Viktor’s arrest. The younger Russian skater pleaded again, “Please, two weeks is all I am asking for.”

 

“Two weeks,” Yakov conceded, “Not an hour more.”

 

“Thank you,” Viktor smiled with relief, and turned to Yuuri. He saw the unspoken words written on his timid husband’s face and he did not want to hear it. He deliberately ignored the concern on Yuuri’s face and grinned, “I can’t wait to go home with you!!”

 

Yuuri could only nod nervously in reply, and decided to hold onto his thoughts until later.

 

 _Later_ came when Viktor was back in Yuuri’s ward after Yakov managed to get a nurse to kick Viktor out of the hospital for smelling like a drunkard. He hurriedly returned to Yuuri’s side in his casual clothes, smelling fresh of soap. He even brought an item Mari had entrusted to him at the hotel lobby: Yuuri’s mobile phone.

 

“She thought you might need it,” Viktor told him as he handed the mobile phone over just as Yuuri got comfortable in a sitting position on his bed.

 

“Thank you,” Yuuri’s grip on his mobile phone tightened. He stared at the dark screen and recalled the last thing he saved on the mobile phone; his suicide note. _“Has anyone read it?”_ he dreaded in his mind, and pressed the power button. He continued to stare at the dashed blanks on his lock screen, and contemplated if he should key in his password now with Viktor watching him.

 

Just a mere foot away, Viktor stood by and observed the way Yuuri fell silent and retreated into his mind, a habit Yuuri was never able to shake off. Viktor mentally shook his head and reminded himself, _“I have to understand that the Yuuri in front of me now is not the Yuuri I know… But I can still see so much of him here. He_ is _still the Yuuri I know.”_

 

His mind turned back to the conversation he just had with Mari, where she translated parts of Yuuri’s suicide note for him:

_[I’m sorry I can’t be the Katsuki Yuuri everyone knew and loved. I’m sorry I’m such a failure. I don’t want to disappoint any more people than I already have. That’s why, I chose death. And, if anyone reading this has a chance to meet Viktor, will you tell him that I’m sorry? And, will you tell him that I love him? …not as Katsuki Yuuri, but as this nameless man with no memories of his past.]_

 

“Yuuri,” Viktor unconsciously called his name out loud.

 

“Y-Yes?” Yuuri looked up from his mobile phone nervously.

 

 _“Damn! What do I say to him now?”_ Viktor cursed himself. He suddenly felt as lost as Yuuri was but he knew he needed to remedy the silence between them, now that they were finally alone again. His eyes caught a glimpse of a yellow box inside the trash bin, and he asked, “Did you have fun with Phichit while I was gone?”

 

“Yes,” Yuuri admitted with a smile, “Phichit managed to sneak in some cream puffs. It was so delicious that I ate them all. Ah, I should have saved some for you.”

 

“Don’t be silly,” Viktor removed his dark brown trench coat and sat on the chair by the bed, “Phichit got them for you, so you should be a little bit more selfish and enjoy them.” He stopped and asked, “Maybe I should get you something too? What would you like, Yuuri?”

 

Yuuri answered softly, and shyly, “Just your company.”

 

Viktor reached forward to kiss Yuuri and replied to his request, “I intend to stay the night anyway.”

 

As they chatted, their conversation flowed naturally towards their travel plans and training schedule. Even Yuuri’s unspoken idea to stay behind in Hasetsu while Viktor focused on his trainings faded away into talks about the places they should visit when they get home to Saint Petersburg. With every minute that ticked by, Yuuri noticed that Viktor was getting sleepier and would occasionally doze off for a second or two. He gently patted on his lap and Viktor accepted the invitation to rest his head on Yuuri. Viktor still tried to converse even as his eyelids grew heavier, and Yuuri would answer him in a hushed voice to lull him to sleep.

 

“I love you,” Yuuri lovingly whispered to a sleeping Viktor even as he felt the jabbing pain and numbness on his thighs from the cuts he had previously inflicted on himself. The intense throbbing that he would otherwise not felt if Viktor was not sleeping on him forced Yuuri to face the reality that Viktor would not always be with him, as opposed to the promise he made. But Yuuri was not about to hold it against him, word for word. He was contented with the way things could be for the next two weeks: to have Viktor by his side for most of the time.

 

 _“If I didn’t choose death, would I be with you now?”_ he wondered as he gingerly brushed the silver locks away with his finger, _“Would you have remembered me?”_

 

Without moving too much, Yuuri turned to reach for his mobile phone and swiftly unlocked it. He froze at the screen; his diary app was open. He undoubtedly remembered clearing all his apps after he saved his parting note.

 

 _“Has he read it?!”_ his hand shook at that realization and glanced at Viktor in horror, but the man’s peaceful sleeping form gave Yuuri a nostalgic sense of warmth and comfort. He turned his attention back to his mobile phone.

 

 _“Even if he knew, he did not say anything about it to me,”_ Yuuri said to himself as his finger moved across the screen to tap on the trash icon.

 

When a prompt appeared to confirm his final diary entry’s deletion, Yuuri’s finger hovered above the “yes” button for a few brief seconds before he tapped down, _“I’m doing this for myself. Let me erase that ending. Let me start over again… for him.”_   

 

Yuuri tapped on the plus sign next, and began a brand new diary entry.

 

* * *

 

 _“Mr. Nikiforov! Why were you absent from the exhibition? Was it because Katsuki Yuuri was hospitalized?”_ journalists were heard asking questions simultaneously in the video Yuuri was watching.

 

 _“I sincerely apologize for my abrupt absence,”_ Viktor flashed a weak smile at the camera, _“There has been an emergency and as you may have heard, my husband and student, Katsuki Yuuri, is being hospitalized due to an injury.”_

_“What sort of injury is it? How serious is it? Will Katsuki Yuuri be participating in upcoming competitions?”_ the bombardment of questions kept coming.

_“Please rest assured that he is well,”_ Viktor kept his cool, _“Yuuri suffered a minor sprain during a private practice but because the sprain coincidentally happened to his right ankle, the one that was previously fractured in the train wreck, we forced him to the hospital for a checkup. And with those injuries in mind, we came to painful decision: Katsuki Yuuri is retiring from the competitive sport.”_

There was stagnant silence for a second before all the journalists spoke at once. Their voices drowned all the questions that were being asked so much that nothing could be heard from the video. Fortunately, Viktor knew exactly what was on their minds, and he answered them.

_“No, I’m afraid he will not be participating in the Grand Prix series this year,”_ Viktor confirmed, _“The doctors and I are worried for him, and practice is strictly forbidden for the time being so Yuuri’s ankle can heal completely.”_

_“I cannot say when he will skate again,”_ Viktor continued to face them, _“But for now, I ask everyone to give him time to heal, and let him decide on his own future.”_

_“What about you, Mr. Nikiforov?”_ a voice was heard asking.

 

 _“I will be competing in the Grand Prix series,”_ Viktor answered, _“And it will be the last competition of my competitive career, and I fully intend to win the gold medal this year.”_

 

“I didn’t look convincing,” Viktor commented as the video continued to play. Yuuri turned his head to the side and saw Viktor leaning on him to peer at the mobile phone in his hands. He pouted, “Yuuuri~ why are you watching videos of me when I am right here with you?”

 

Yuuri’s heart skipped a beat when he realized that Viktor was being jealous of himself. He turned his attention back to the video and stuttered his answer, “Be-because I n-need to-o rememberwhatyousaid.”

 

“You don’t need to memorize every word, you know?” Viktor told him.

 

“…I know,” he replied with a nod, _“But if I don’t… I might screw up the lie. I cannot afford to forget a single thing.”_

 

Viktor yawned and looked at his watch, “We still have an hour more to go before we land in Fukuoka Airport. Try to get some sleep. Or make a packing list if you can’t sleep.” His mind ran over the items in their apartment in Saint Petersburg and he mumbled as sleep quickly came over him again, “…your clothes and essentials items are already at home… so you only need to pack the things you want to bring with you…”

 

With a sleepy Viktor resting his head on his shoulder, Yuuri became distracted from the assignment in his hand as he made a list of the things he should pack on his mobile phone. At first, he listed down ‘clothes’ but quickly deleted it when he recalled Viktor saying his clothes were already at home; but he reentered ‘clothes’ again, just in case he could not fit into his old clothes. Yuuri glanced at his hands. He thought it was almost disgusting to be able to see the bones underneath his skin so clearly.

 

“…love you… Yuuri…” Viktor mumbled. Yuuri gasped softly at his words.

 

“…Viktor?” Yuuri called out softly but the man was clearly fast asleep when Yuuri heard soft sighs coming from him. With tears of relief in his eyes, he gazed lovingly at his sleeping Russian husband, who never left his side for more than two hours at a time in the past three days while he was held captive by the hospital. Viktor kept true to his word even as he rushed back and forth between the hospital and interview venues.

 

 _“I said ‘I love you’ but do I even know what it truly means?”_ Yuuri wondered, _“I do know I want to stay with you. If that feeling alone is called love, then I can say I love you. But is there more to love than merely staying by your side? What else can I do for you, Viktor?”_

Yuuri slowly reached out to hold Viktor’s idle hand on his thigh, and stared at their rings, _“These rings bind us together and I know they mean a lot to us. I can feel it in my heart. But I have no memories of them. My love for you… feels so… empty.”_

_“If only I can have my memories back…”_ Yuuri lamented as he brushed aside the fringe covering Viktor’s face. For the first time, he could clearly see how long Viktor’s lashes were and noticed how his pink lips were a contrast against his pale skin. A sudden surge of possessiveness grew intense in his chest. Yuuri thought to himself, _“This memory is mine, but it is not enough. I want more memories of you… and of us. If I can never remember… then I want so much more new memories of us that it wouldn’t matter who I once was!”_

_“But!”_ Yuuri let a tear slipped down his face, _“The only reason you want me to stay by your side is because I am the shell of a man named Katsuki Yuuri.”_

He continued to gaze at his husband’s face, memorizing the shape of his nose and the curves on his soft supple cheeks, _“Viktor, if you so wish it, I will become the Yuuri you know. So please, keep me by your side.”_

 

As fragile and uncertain as his foundations were, Yuuri decided that he would give up the alternate future he could have had for Viktor. He would suppress whoever he was about to become in order to impersonate as Viktor’s husband. Yuuri was willing to relive his life as Katsuki Yuuri again; only, this time he would never doubt his past identity. The memories in his brain might be lost with little hope of recovery, but Yuuri could still gather them again as second-handed memories from the people he once knew. Most of his past life was already gathered into a photo album, all that was left to fill was the brief life he once shared with Viktor.

 

But there was a more pressing matter at hand right now. Hasetsu was now a mere hour’s drive away and Yuuri was beginning to visibly shake in his nervousness in the taxi. Both Mari and Viktor held his hands in an effort to calm him but Yuuri silently kept his head hung low. Despite being the oldest of the group, Minako was also silent as she sat by the taxi driver. There was nothing anyone could say to Yuuri now without pointing out the fact that he tried to take his own life. No matter how forgiving the two elder Katsukis were, they were bound to give Yuuri a piece of their minds as parents.

 

 _“How should I apologize? Can I be forgiven?”_ Yuuri bit the inside of his mouth in an attempt to stop himself from shaking.

 

“I’ll face Mum and Dad with you,” he heard the tremble in Viktor’s whisper as his hand squeezed tighter. Yuuri looked to his side and was overcame with relief for a moment to know that Viktor was almost as nervous as he was. He forced a faint smile back at Viktor, hoping it could give him a little comfort in return.  

 

Just as the taxi stopped in front of the Yu~topia Katsuki’s entrance, Toshiya emerged from the entrance to greet them; but he was without his usual goofy smile. Remorse instantly froze Yuuri in his seat and he could not budge even after knowing that he was the only person left inside the taxi. His body trembled as he tried to keep his fears and tears from flowing out.

 

 _“Stay strong. Don’t cry. Apologize,”_ Yuuri repeated the mantra to himself with his fists clenched tightly in front of him.

 

Toshiya recognized the state his son was in despite not seeing it in more than two decades. The young Yuuri had a habit of freezing up whenever he was fearful. It happened during his first ballet lesson with Minako; he tried hard to mimic Minako’s moves but he was so shy of the fact that he was the only boy in the class that his body stiffened, and he danced like a frozen puppet, albeit a cute and chubby one. On his first day at the ice rink, Yuuri’s legs were frozen by his nervousness that he clumsily fell on his rear again every time he tried to get up from a fall. And then, his chubby boy was a stuttering mess on the first day at elementary school.

 

As his father, Toshiya had noticed the way Yuuri outgrew his fear of first times by the time he was seven years old and he had since managed himself bravely whenever faced with difficulties. He was very proud of his son, but right now, as he witnessed an adult Yuuri trembling as he would when he was a child, Toshiya’s old heart broke. He walked closer and bent low to speak into the taxi with a smile, “Yuuri, welcome home.”

 

Those words of acceptance immediately released Yuuri from his own prison. He turned his head towards his father and tears fell as he rushed out to hug him, “Dad! I’m so sorry!”

 

Toshiya never stopped patting Yuuri on his head just as he used to do to comfort a frightened young Yuuri. He gently told him, “You’re home now, son.”

 

Yuuri let his father’s gentle pats reassured him with courage, and he took a step back from the embrace. He nodded and said with a soft smile, “I’m home, Dad.”

 

“Mum, I-” he looked behind Toshiya to apologize to his mother, but quickly realized that she was not there. His mother often would be the first person to welcome him home but the spot where she usually greet him was empty, and Yuuri could feel the weight of his mother’s presence in his life. And it made him realized how much he _missed_ her.

 

“Your mother is in the kitchen,” his father told him and gave Yuuri a gentle push into the inn. Yuuri turned his head back to look at his family; Toshiya, Mari, Minako and Viktor gave him a smile and a nod. And that was the only encouragement Yuuri needed to take a step into the inn. As soon as Yuuri was out of sight, Viktor knelt on the floor and bowed at the elder Katsuki’s feet.

 

“Dad, I am terribly sorry for what had happened,” Viktor said remorsefully, “I made you a promise to take care of Yuuri but I…”

 

“We’ve heard the details. In truth, I am to be blamed as well,” Toshiya pat the man on his shoulder, and sighed as he helped Viktor up to his feet, “I noticed Yuuri had been keeping to himself more often lately but I never stopped to wonder why, or thought that it could lead to anything else. We were busy reveling in our blessing for Yuuri’s survival and we became so blind to the hurt we caused him every time we tried to help him remember the past. Poor Yuuri must have kept so much pain inside him all those times.”

 

“I was not so kind with my words,” Viktor’s voice trembled, “I’ve hurt him so deeply that he…”

 

“But you’re here with him now,” Toshiya reminded him, “Again.” Viktor found no words against his father and listened to his requests, “So stay with him as you promised. Take care of him where we couldn’t. Teach him to love life again.”

 

“I will,” Viktor swore.   

 

“And you also have an upset mother to talk to,” the elder Katsuki said with an encouraging pat on the back, “We’re having katsudon for dinner tonight.”

 

“On my way,” Viktor nodded and took a deep breath before he walked through the entrance, and calmly made his way down the hallway. Even before he reached the kitchen, he could hear the furious sound of knife on the chopping board. He stood at the corner and peeked into the kitchen. He could see Yuuri trying to get his mother’s attention. Viktor decided to stay where he was and looked on.

 

“M-Mum…?” Yuuri tried for tenth time, but Hiroko was still ignoring him and busied herself around the kitchen; she slid the pork cutlets to fry in the oil, and turned to grab ingredients by the sink and began chopping them up. She sniffled and Yuuri tried to give her a handkerchief.

 

“It’s the onions, you stupid son!” Hiroko tried to keep her tears from falling. Her hands never stopped cutting down on the onions despite her blurry vision.

 

“Mum, you’ll cut yourself!” Yuuri tried to stop her from using the knife but Hiroko pushed him away with her elbow.

 

“Can’t you see I’m busy?!” she tried to sound angry, but as soon as she heard the devastation in her own voice, she began to wail, “I’m trying to make your favourite katsudon! It needs to be perfect this time!” She set the knife aside to push Yuuri away, and rubbed her tears as she picked up the large chopsticks to turn the pork cutlet over in the pot. Her eyes quickly stung from the remnants of onion juice on her hands but Hiroko’s mind was only on that last meal she made him. She sniffled and said, “The last time I made katsudon for you, it was overcooked and dry! And it could have been the last meal I made for you!”

 

Yuuri fell silent in his shame for making his mother feel so intensely about a meal she had been making almost every day for decades. But he knew he had to harden his resolve to reach out to her. Yuuri took a deep breath and told her his most honest thought at that moment, “I want to continue eating the katsudon you make, for years and years to come.”

 

Hiroko stopped being stubborn to deny her son attention and decided to forgive him upon hearing those words alone. She turned back to him and cried, “Someday, I’ll be too old to make them for you.”

 

There was no hesitation in Yuuri’s hands when reached up to gently wipe her face with his handkerchief. He said, “Then I’ll make them for you, and we can eat them together.”

 

His mother cried on his chest, “That was the second time I thought I have to bury you. My poor heart can’t take so much pain.”

 

“I’m sorry, Mum,” Yuuri hugged her tight, and promised, “I won’t do it again.”

 

“…you’d better live longer than me, you hear?” she lightly scolded and then softened, “…welcome home, Yuuri.”

 

“I’m home,” Yuuri nodded, “Mum.”

 

Something sizzled louder in the background and a burnt smell began to waft in the kitchen. Hiroko shrieked and turned back to the stove only to see that her pork cutlet had shrunk in size and turned dark brown; it was horribly overcooked. She stared at them in despair while Yuuri stuttered in his futile attempt to comfort his mother.

 

The other son, who had been watching the two of them from a few feet away, jumped into the kitchen and turned off the stove. Knowing where the utensils were, Viktor picked up a pair of chopsticks and plucked the pork cutlet out of the oil to drain on a plate. Then he went for a clean knife and sliced the cutlet into strips. He gingerly picked up a piece with his hand and gave it a few quick blow before putting the pork cutlet strip into his mouth. The crunch from the over-fried cutlet was loud.

 

“It’s delicious!” he exclaimed with a satisfied hum as he tried to fan air into his mouth. Hiroko stared at her taller son.

 

“…but it’s still so hot. You’ll burn your tongue,” she pretended to scold him like an overbearing mother, “…stupid son.”

 

“Anything you make tastes delicious, Mum,” Viktor told her with a smile, “And you make the best katsudon, ever.”

 

Hiroko pouted in her stubbornness, but later smiled, “You are forgiven. Welcome home, Vicchan.”

 

“Thank you, Mum,” Viktor said as he pulled both Hiroko and Yuuri into his arms. He gave his Japanese husband’s stiff body a gentle squeeze around the shoulders and felt the tension leave his body. His hand reached up to pat Yuuri on the head and he left a quick peck on his forehead. He hoped Yuuri understood his gesture, _“We’re okay.”_

 

Whether Yuuri understood it or not, Viktor felt a light tug on the back of his brown coat, as if Yuuri was gesturing, _“Thank you.”_

 

Hiroko stepped back from the embrace and wiped her face on her sleeves. She smiled and told them, “Dinner is going to take a while longer, and you two must be tired from the journey home. Go take a rest at the dining room while you wait.”

 

“Mum, I’m home too,” Mari announced as she appeared in the kitchen wearing the red coloured Yu~topia Katsuki staff uniform.

 

“Welcome home, Mari!” she smiled at her daughter, “You must be tired as well! Go have a drink with them!”

 

“What? No way! You need my help in here, don’t you?” Mari exclaimed as she finished tying the apron around her waist. She turned back to the couple, “Meanwhile, DON’T get in the hot spring yet. Dinner will be served shortly.”

 

“Yes, ma’am!” Viktor nodded and led Yuuri out of the kitchen by the hand, “Yuuri, we can start unpacking in the meantime.”

 

“I-I’ll be looking forward to katsudon for dinner, Mum!” Yuuri managed to tell his mother before he followed his husband’s lead towards their rooms.

 

With every step they took up the stairs, Yuuri’s heart grew heavy with dread and nervousness as he tried not to think about the last conversation they had outside their doors. He looked up from their firmly linked hands to eye his door, and then reluctantly shifted his gaze to look up at Viktor, whose face seemed to have hardened from guilt. The silence between them was almost deafening, and focusing on the weight of his backpack behind him did not take Yuuri’s mind off his pounding heart.

 

Viktor stopped outside Yuuri’s door and set down his luggage. He turned back to Yuuri and nervously called out to him, “Yuuri?”

 

“Y-Yes?” Yuuri tried to mask his anxiety with a smile.

 

“Can I… kiss you, here?” he asked.

 

But Yuuri’s mind automatically replayed the incident, _“But we kissed, and then we argued, and then you left!”_

 

Seeing that Yuuri was not answering him, Viktor tried to explain, “I know the last time we were here, it didn’t end well and I wish I can undo the hurt I caused you, but I can’t.” He squeezed the smaller hand in his as he looked into Yuuri’s brown eyes and pleaded, “If you can give me a chance, I would like to make it right again. I want to create another memory of this spot so that every time you come back here, you will be reminded of the good version… and not the bad one.”

 

“But it won’t make it hurt any lesser when I do remember,” Yuuri reminded him with quivering voice. He never meant to blame Viktor but reliving the same memory every time he walked in and out of his room, every single day, was his reality after Viktor left Hasetsu. And the pain did not lessen every time his mind tortured him with the echoes of Viktor’s angry voice.

 

Viktor could never understand how it must have hurt Yuuri, but as he stood frozen at the spot where he thought he was being rejected, he remembered every word he had spewed at Yuuri. He disastrously hurt the one person he claimed to love and the realization now tore at his own heart. He apologized, “I’m sorry, that was very selfish of me.”

 

But Yuuri shook his head, “I’m sorry too.”

 

“Yuuri, what can I do to make it hurt less?” Viktor was determined to make amends.

 

Yuuri did not know how to answer him but he remembered every wish he had never spoken out loud. He looked up at his lover, and after seeing the desperate sincerity in his eyes, Yuuri decided to confide in him all of his secret desires. He told Viktor, “I want to make more memories of us. Not just one memory to overwrite what had happened here, but more, everywhere, any time. I want to spend so much more time with you. …Viktor, can I ask so much of you?”

 

Viktor pulled Yuuri into his arms tightly and said, “Yes, Yuuri. I’ll gladly give you all of my time. Every second I can spare.”

 

“Can we can start with a kiss, here?” Yuuri suggested, and Viktor did not let another second be wasted as he bent down to close their lips together. Their kiss started off slow and gentle, like the first kiss they shared on that fateful Valentine’s Day; and just like that kiss, it grew deeper and turned heated with passion. Yuuri clung onto Viktor’s neck as he felt his Russian lover’s hands released its hold around him to snake down his sides and… got caught in his backpack’s straps. Yuuri pulled away, but Viktor leaned further in to capture his lips again.

 

“We need to unpack,” Yuuri reminded the both of them, as they parted for the second time. Viktor chuckled as he slipped his hands underneath Yuuri’s backpack anyway to rest them on the back of his husband’s hips.

 

“You need to put the bag down,” he replied with a smirk.  

 

Yuuri smiled but insisted that the kiss be cut short, “We’ll be late for dinner.”

 

“Alright,” Viktor relented, “But one last thing.” He cupped Yuuri’s face and gave him a peck on the lips, “I love you, Yuuri.”

 

“I love you too,” Yuuri said in reply, almost automatically. He could have easily lost count of how many times they had both said that three-word phrase to each other over the past three days, but he did not; Viktor’s count was at 84, now 85, while his count just turned 69. It was never intended to be a competition, and Yuuri accepted Viktor’s love proclamation willingly into his heart but the more times Viktor said it, the more Yuuri felt that he was not properly reciprocating Viktor’s feelings. Even if Yuuri did not know what his feelings truly were, he had already put a name on it, and he called it ‘love’.

 

Viktor reluctantly let Yuuri walked out of his arms and stood by the door to watch Yuuri unzipped his backpack and overturned its content onto his bed. A rattle froze the both of them and they both stared at the white bottle lying on his bed. Before Yuuri could reach out for it, Viktor had already snatched up the bottle of sleeping pills and hid it behind him; he never realized how terrified he was of the idea that Yuuri might make a second attempt on his life.

 

“I’ll throw this away,” Viktor announced with grim face, and Yuuri did not respond to that but stood staring at the empty spot where the bottle was a second ago. He never imagined the bottle of sleeping pills was inside the backpack all along.

 

Yuuri looked up at Viktor and noticed the shadow across his face and the tension in his body. The Russian did not speak again and Yuuri knew he needed to break the sudden silence between them; but the wound was still fresh for the both of them, and all he could do was to apologize, “Viktor, I’m sorry. I’ll never do it again.”

 

Viktor stepped closer to hug Yuuri. As much as he wanted to have faith in Yuuri’s words, his own fears had already planted the doubt that Yuuri might take his life again someday. That subconscious fear was the driving force behind the reason Viktor wished to be with Yuuri every second of the day; to make sure he was not left alone with his own negative thoughts. But Viktor also realized that if he failed to win the gold medal at the final stage of the upcoming Grand Prix Final, he would not be able to keep his promise to stay by Yuuri’s side. If, at any second while he was imprisoned, should Yuuri choose death again, Viktor thought he would rather die than live with the guilt behind bars for the rest of his life.

 

But now was not the time to bring Yuuri down when he was trying to be positive. So Viktor forced a smile and said, “I will do anything to make sure you love life again.”

 

“I already do,” Yuuri told him, with a genuine smile of his own, “I am in love with you.”

 

“And I am in love with you too,” Viktor confessed, “Again.”

 

 _“But it’s not ‘again’ for me,”_ Yuuri’s mind whispered. But his thoughts were cut short by Mari’s shouts from downstairs about dinner. Yuuri took a step back and said, “Come on. Let’s have dinner while the katsudon is still hot and crunchy.”

 

Viktor chuckled and followed Yuuri’s lead this time to the dining area. He savoured the firm grip on his hand, and he admitted to himself that he missed the times Yuuri took control while they lived together; whether it as simple as deciding whose turn it was to do the chores, or deciding on their meal plans, or occasionally choosing to be the top in bed.  

 

But now Viktor could only imagine how confused and lost Yuuri must have been with everything that had happened to him since the train wreck, and his Japanese lover would also have known that Russia would not go easy on him. From his perspective, Yuuri seemed to look forward to going home to Saint Petersburg, but Viktor understood his husband enough to know that he was prone to put up a strong front to mask his own fear. If he could, Viktor would rather keep Yuuri away from everyone and everything than risk exposing him to every person or memory that could hurt him. But that was never an option, and Viktor recognized the need for Yuuri to be independent again.

 

“Viktor? Is something wrong?” Yuuri asked, “You are gripping me.”

 

“What? No!” he replied and loosened his grip, “Of course not. I just didn’t want to let go.”

 

“Stop it with the lovey-dovey for a while and sit your asses down for dinner!” Mari said behind them, holding onto a tray of katsudon in bowls.

 

“Yes, Ma’am!” both Viktor and Yuuri straightened up in a heartbeat.

 

“Let me help you,” Yuuri quickly took over the heavy tray and trailed behind Mari as she proceeded to place a bowl of katsudon in front of everyone. With the last bowl served, Yuuri sat on his cushion seat and set the empty tray beside him on the floor. Toshiya took a quick look across the table and smiled knowing his family was complete. But something needed to be done about the nervous looks on everyone’s faces.

 

“To Yuuri and Viktor’s marriage!” Toshiya held up his glass of beer.

 

“DAD!” everyone exclaimed in unison. Both Viktor and Yuuri looked embarrassingly coy; Mari looked visibly disappointed in his choice of words; and Hiroko was amused. After seeing the changed look on everyone’s face, Toshiya laughed at how his plan worked perfectly.

 

“With that said,” Toshiya held up his beer again, “Welcome home, everyone.”

 

Everyone toasted to that and began to dig into their bowl of katsudon. For Yuuri, the katsudon he was having was the tastiest that he remembered, and as he looked at everyone around him – and their smiles – tears brimmed in his eyes.

_“I almost gave up all of these,”_ he thought regretfully.

 

“Yuuri?” Hiroko called out to him as she tried to control her quivering voice after looking at her tearful son, “Delicious?”

 

Yuuri nodded with a sniffle, “Very.”

 

“Yuuri, welcome home,” Viktor smiled at him, as did everyone else. Yuuri’s eyes slowly shifted from one person to the next and he knew his home was here, with everyone.

 

“I’m…! …home!” Yuuri cried.

 

No one said a word about Yuuri’s attempted suicide that night, nor ventured anywhere near the topic as they chatted merrily over beers in front of the television. As Yuuri listened and joined the conversations, he could swear he almost forgotten it ever happened. And when he did, he reminded himself of all the things he would have missed out on as he gazed at the scene before him; his family gathered around him with smiles and cheers on their faces.

 

“Yuuri? Are you tired?” Viktor asked. Yuuri turned to the clock and realized that it was almost midnight. He turned back to his family.

 

“It is late,” Hiroko commented and pouted slightly, “And you still have to pack for your other home.”

 

“That won’t be until a few more days, Mum,” Viktor assured her and turned backed to Yuuri, “But it is late. Shall we, Yuuri?”

 

“Yeah,” Yuuri agreed and got up to his feet, “Good night, everyone.” But before he walked away, he added, “I’ll see you in the morning.”  

 

Everyone seemed relieved to hear those words, and Viktor was proud of Yuuri knowing he said them on his own accord. He thought his worries were unfounded after all because Yuuri understood the gravity of his action and he was taking steps to reassure the people around him. For his Yuuri, Viktor would mold himself to be the foundation for Yuuri to lean on when he got tired, and to offer protection whenever he needed it, even though Viktor’s was not quite sure of his own future.

 

“Can we still go into the hot spring?” Viktor turned back to ask.

 

“Of course you can! Just don’t fall asleep in there,” Toshiya guffawed and raised his beer to him. Viktor winked and walked back to where Yuuri was waiting for him.

 

“Let’s go take a quick dip!” Viktor suggested, and Yuuri froze as his face turned a shade of red; because going into the hot springs together would mean he could gawk at Viktor’s naked body – something he had never done even while the amnesiac Russian was in Hasetsu – but it also meant that Viktor would be seeing _him_ naked. And there were dozens of scars he never wanted Viktor to see.

 

“I-I think I’m going to turn in for the day,” he answered nervously, “It is late and I am getting tired too.”

 

“If you’re worried about me seeing your scars,” Viktor said when he noticed Yuuri’s hand unconsciously rubbed the side of his pants. He reminded him, “I’ve already seen them, Yuuri.”

 

Yuuri hung his head and admitted, “I’m sorry, Viktor. I’m …not ready for this.”

 

Viktor respected the space Yuuri so firmly requested and did not push Yuuri any further. He put up a smile and said, “Then I’ll see you later, Yuuri.”

 

Yuuri appreciated the gesture and returned a smile before retreating back towards his room. With slumped shoulders, Viktor then turned the other way and made his way towards the hot spring. His mind was a mess of words he wanted to tell Yuuri but he had to hold everything in for now, until the time was right to speak of them; because everywhere he had been and everything he saw now reminded him of their shared past. And he was utterly excited to remember everything again; but he knew Yuuri did not share the same sentiment. Shaking away the thoughts and memories of their past, Viktor tried to calm his mind and focused on relaxing in the hot spring.

 

When he returned to his room wearing the inn’s dark green robe, he noticed Yuuri’s door was wide open and he could hear Yuuri rummaging around the room. He stopped at the door and looked inside. Yuuri was already in his pajamas – a pair of grey sweatpants with a loose blue t-shirt – and his hands were busy packing.  

 

“Oh, hi, Viktor,” Yuuri stopped to acknowledge him, “Did you have a nice bath?”

 

“Refreshing as always,” Viktor replied, and his eyes strained to look at a white box of chocolate on the desk beside him. His heart skipped a beat wondering how long Yuuri must have known about the Valentine’s chocolate and their wedding ring. He wanted to ask Yuuri about them then but his husband got up from the floor and was walking towards him.

 

“…r-right,” Yuuri gulped as he picked up the box of Valentine’s chocolate and took a step closer to Viktor. He held out the box to Viktor, “U-um, you forgot this in your room.”

 

“Yuuri,” Viktor knew it could be the start of another misunderstanding, so he quickly explained, “This is for you. From me.”

 

“What? No,” Yuuri argued, “I got this for you.”

 

“…from a little chocolatier with white roof at the end of a garden path, off a small alley, behind an izakaya,” Viktor described the place.

 

“How did you know?” Yuuri was surprised.

 

“Because this is the gift I got you for Valentine’s Day,” Viktor told him, “The one you gave me is in Saint Petersburg.”

 

“But it’s the same box,” he could not believe they both got the same idea for each other.

 

“Did you look on the other side of the box?” Viktor asked, and flipped the box in Yuuri’s hands. Yuuri looked down and his eyes finally saw the words he never knew was written on it.

 

 _“Dearest Yuuri, I love you. Happy Valentine’s Day. With Love, Viktor,”_ Yuuri read silently. He held the box to his chest and confessed, “I’m sorry, I didn’t know…”

 

“Well now you do,” Viktor smiled and pulled him into his arms, “Happy Valentine’s Day, Yuuri.” 

 

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Viktor,” Yuuri said and returned his hug. Silence filled the gap between them again as they were both unwilling to be the first one to part. Yuuri could smell the aroma of the inn’s orange-scented soap off of him. Yuuri leant closer into Viktor’s chest, and relished in the warmth that was flowing into him from Viktor’s body; he felt incredibly safe, and it was almost nostalgic. It was as if his body remembered how it felt to be inside Viktor’s arms, and his body even knew how to respond to his kisses. Yuuri flushed red when he recalled the number of times they had kissed in the hospital a few days ago.

 

“Hmm?” Viktor hummed his question when he felt Yuuri’s body shifted slightly. Yuuri lightly shook his head in response, and so Viktor let it slide. He asked, “Yuuri, can I kiss you good night?”

 

Yuuri did notice that Viktor had begun to ask for permission to kiss him since the morning after he woke up from his stiff lap. Even after spending the day and night before together, Yuuri was still very conscious of Viktor’s presence, and the smile he made when he greeted Viktor that morning felt almost as stiff as his body and face. He was painfully aware of the way his body was reacting, and he tried to loosen up but instead, he became even more nervous under Viktor’s watchful eyes.

 

And Viktor definitely noticed the anxious cues.

 

Putting aside his own selfish desire to resume the intimacy he once shared with Yuuri, Viktor decided to reinsert a little more mental and physical distance between them and patiently waited for Yuuri’s to bridge the gap. At first, Yuuri seemed worried about the sudden lack of needlessly frequent physical touches, but as time went by, Yuuri grew comfortable with Viktor’s presence and quickly learned that he could always trust Viktor to be by his side, reaching out to him with a reassuring smile.

 

His shyness gradually melted away with every embrace Viktor pulled him into, and Yuuri would find himself relaxing into Viktor’s warmth; sometimes, he would return the hug with equal fervor. But even after dozens of kisses, Yuuri was still bashful about them, and they had only kissed a few times after their heated kiss on the hospital bed just before they were interrupted by journalists. Since then, their kisses were just quick pecks on the lips whenever Yuuri answered positively to Viktor’s requests for a kiss. But as shy as Yuuri was, he would never deny him a kiss when asked, and sometimes even seemed eager to prolong their kisses. It was subtle hints like these that convinced Viktor of the progress he was making in his plan to regain his place in Yuuri’s life.

 

But tonight, Yuuri was the one to initiate the kiss Viktor instead. He tiptoed to give Viktor’s lips a quick peck, and said, “Good night, Viktor.”

 

“Actually, can I sleep with you tonight?” Viktor tried to push his luck, and hoped that maybe it could lead to something more… erotic.

 

“U-Um… I… u-uh… ,” Yuuri turned into a blushing and stuttering mess, “I-I stillneedtopack.”

 

 _“Not yet ready,”_ Viktor concluded in his minded as he watched Yuuri looked from side to side nervously.

 

“And-you-haven’t-been-sleeping-well o-or taken-much-rest-in-the-past-few-days,” Yuuri muttered continuously, “Because-you’ve-been-staying-with-me-at-the-hospital and always-sleeping-on-the-uncomfortable-chair-or-couch and-”

 

“Alright, my husband,” Viktor relented as he squeezed the smaller man in his arms, “I’ll leave you to your packing. Don’t stay up too late. You still have plenty of time to pack.”

 

Yuuri nodded as Viktor leaned forward to kiss his forehead, “Good night, Yuuri.”

 

“Good night,” Yuuri returned as they parted from their hug. Even after Viktor had closed the door behind him, Yuuri could still feel the warmth lingering where Viktor’s hands were resting around his waist a few seconds ago. He drew in a deep breath and stared at the box of chocolate in his hand. For the first time, Yuuri smiled for himself; because he finally realized he had something real to hold onto all along. He was just too afraid to see it.

 

Yuuri, in his own awkward way of assuring his family that he was giving himself a second chance, decided to spend the next day with his family by following their usual routine. He woke up early to lend his mother a hand in the kitchen with breakfast preparation for their guests. Then he worked at the reception until lunchtime, while a bored Viktor lounged in front of the TV with the other guests. Soon after lunch, Mari tasked both Viktor and him to sweep the inn’s compound.

 

Viktor happily obliged because he understood the agenda behind Mari’s task. Even a blind could notice how hard Yuuri was trying to make everyone feel at ease again. Every word Yuuri spoke and every smile Yuuri put up cried a plea so heart-wrenchingly hopeful to be trusted again. But the scars were deep and despite their own fears, his family and Viktor tried their best to show him that they heard his desires. They tried to act normal, as if everything had returned to the way it is: joyful and everlasting. That was why Viktor, too, wanted Yuuri to look up from his work.

 

“Yuuri!” Viktor cheerfully called out to him, “Catch!”

 

“Huh? Wha-!” Yuuri gasped as he reached both his hands out, but he found himself closing his eyes to whatever Viktor threw at him. He opened his eyes again and looked down at his hand. He blinked, _“Pink petals?”_

 

He gasped and turned to look up at the tree in front of him. His eyes sparkled as he took in the beautiful sight of the row of decades-old trees blossoming in pink hue. He turned back towards Viktor, and exclaimed with a bright smile, “The cherry blossom trees are in full bloom! It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

 

“…beautiful,” Viktor repeated softly, but he was referring to his Yuuri. Seeing that smile again made his heart skipped a beat and he became desperate to claim that smile with a kiss. He stepped closer to his unsuspecting lover as the pink petals gently danced in the air around them. When Viktor leaned in to close the distance between their lips, Yuuri reciprocated and pulled him close. This was how they used to kiss: spontaneous and romantic. But Viktor could never tell the lover in his arms his true thoughts at that moment, _“I miss you.”_

 

Yuuri’s voice pulled him back to reality, “This is my memory.”

 

Viktor tightened his embrace around his husband as he grounded himself into the present, and sensed the warmth emanating from Yuuri. He corrected him, “This is our memory.”

 

Yuuri smiled in return and then lightly shook his head, “I mean, this memory is ours, and also mine, as the Katsuki Yuuri of the now. Because the me from the past might have met you in spring, but there was no memory of us kissing, under the blossoming cherry blossom trees.”

 

“Oh?” Viktor was surprised, “How did you know?”

 

“…because I’ve been collecting …memories,” Yuuri admitted rather reluctantly. Viktor seemed puzzled, so the Japanese man explained, “My therapist suggested me to look back at old photographs. She hoped they could trigger some memories, but it never did…”

 

Yuuri seemed to have zoned off in his thoughts momentarily, and so the Russian waited. Then Yuuri took a deep breath and continued with a somber voice, “It was depressing, to see the disappointment in everyone’s face whenever I was shown a photograph, and I had to tell them that I can’t remember.”

 

He shifted his gaze lower in shame, “That’s why I… wanted to become Katsuki Yuuri. I began collecting photographs and stories of the past me in an album. And I memorized them so I could pretend that I remember. It …hurts to listen to the past …but it also hurts to have no memories of it.”

 

“Yuuri…” his heart went out for his amnesiac husband, “If you don’t want to, you don’t have to remember. We’ll make new memories, just as you wished.”

 

Yuuri was silent for a moment but when he looked up again, his eyes reflected a mix of determination and fear, “Viktor, I’m scared to know. But I want to know about …us.”

 

“Yuuri,” Viktor’s heart hurt to see Yuuri in pieces and he would have wanted to dissuade him, but his selfishness took advantage of Yuuri’s unwanted desire. He resolved, “Then I’ll help you.”

 

Yuuri nodded, almost optimistically, and informed him, “I only have one last part of my past life to fill: ours.”

 

Viktor’s eyes softened as his fingers combed through Yuuri’s soft black hair, removing the pink cherry blossom petals that had fallen onto his husband. He asked gently, “Where do you want me to begin?”

 

“W-Well,” Yuuri stammered at the caress, “I’ve packed the photo album last night, so it’s in the luggage. I just need to take it out and there are many photographs of us that Phichit left me. W-we need to sort those out by dates before you can tell me about them.”

 

“Alright,” Viktor chuckled at his adorable lover. He turned to look at the discarded broom by his leg and said, “Let’s get the sweeping done, and we can get to it.” Yuuri nodded enthusiastically in agreement.

 

Lightheartedly, the two of them labored around the garden as they swept and bundled the fallen petals away in bags. By the time they were done, it was already 3:00 PM and Mari had quietly left them tea and some snacks on a small tray on the hallway along the garden. Yuuri and Viktor sat down to savor their tea as they gazed out at the mesmerizing scene of cherry blossom trees with its flowers in full bloom, swaying gently in the wind.

 

“I’m glad I get to see this before I leave for our home,” Yuuri commented absent-mindedly, and he instantly blushed when he realized just how easily he said the words _‘our home’_. Beside him, his Russian husband smiled and silently reached out to squeeze his hand in encouragement. Yuuri returned that gentle squeeze with a tighter grip.

 

With one last sip of their tea and leaving only crumbs on the plates, Yuuri went ahead upstairs to bring out his photo album while Viktor returned the tray to Mari in the kitchen. She merely rolled her eyes when told that the two of them would be spending some quality time in Yuuri’s room with a sly smirk. Mari grabbed the nearest wooden ladle and threw it at Viktor; she knew him well enough to understand that they were not about to get chummy on the bed, but he was not getting away with such talks in a public space. Viktor ducked in time and ran away to the safety of Yuuri’s room.

 

His Japanese lover was pouring out photographs from a large brown envelope when Viktor stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. Yuuri looked up but missed the way Viktor’s grin faltered when he caught a glance of the photographs on the floor; he recognized all of them. And it made his heart sank to remember that Yuuri had no memories of all their happier moments together. He tried to put up a smile again as he sat down beside Yuuri. He remarked, “That’s a lot of photographs.”

 

“Um, y-yeah, I guess so,” Yuuri agreed and flustered as he admitted, “I’m sorry I’m a blundering mess. Phichit actually dated the photographs for me, but being a klutz, I’ve accidentally mixed them all up when I knocked them over the other time. That’s why we need to sort the photographs out again before we can start.”

 

“That’s alright,” Viktor smiled but his eyes caught the corner of a photograph buried beneath the pile. Yuuri looked on in horrified anticipation as Viktor’s long fingers reached down to pick out that specific photograph; the one he had stared at for the longest time and had memorized the words written behind it: 7th December 2016, Barcelona. 

 

Viktor held up the photograph that depicted two right hands – his and Yuuri’s – with their golden engagement rings on their fourth fingers glinting in the foreground while their smiling faces behind their hands were unfocused in the background. He smiled looking back at this memory but tears soon blurred his vision.

 

“Yuuri,” he almost sobbed, and asked, “May I begin with this photograph?”

 

Yuuri could not refuse him when Viktor look so heartbroken and complete at the same time. He removed a few pages from his photo album and grabbed a pen before he scooted closer to Viktor. But Viktor detested the distance between them; so he turned and pulled Yuuri to sit between his legs, and then circled his arms around Yuuri’s waist before resting his chin on Yuuri’s head. It was almost comforting for Viktor to know Yuuri was able to relax in his arms when he felt his husband’s frail shoulder leaned against his own toned chest and the familiar weight of Yuuri’s head on his shoulder; just like how they always liked to sit together in the privacy of their home in Saint Petersburg.

 

He lifted his chin and held up the photograph in front of their eyes. He began, “Phichit took this photo during supper, right after we told him that you proposed to me in front of the Barcelona Cathedral.”

 

“I WHAT?!” Yuuri exclaimed, his eyes wide in disbelief.

 

“Yes, _you_ proposed to _me_ ,” he chuckled as he leaned down to peck his husband on the lips, “I already had a ring and speech rehearsed in my mind for you, but you proposed first. You even bought me the same ring I got you!”

 

“…I …did…?” Yuuri was still in disbelief at his own action, _“Where in the world did I find the balls to propose to_ THE _Viktor Nikiforov?!”_

 

Viktor smiled as he continued, “When I saw you paid for the ring, I was sure you are my soul mate.” His hold on Yuuri’s waist suddenly stiffened as he went on, “And when you slipped the ring onto my finger, I swore to myself that I would never let you go, no matter what happens to us.”

 

He softly lamented, “I couldn’t even keep a promise I made to myself. Yuuri… I’m so sorry I left you.”

 

Yuuri lightly shook his head as his right hand reached up to rest by Viktor’s cheek. He smiled and reminded his Russian husband, “You came back for me. And you’re here now, with me.”

 

Viktor smiled faintly as he leaned into Yuuri’s touch, and confessed, “I don’t intend to go anywhere else without you.”

 

“And I’ll be with you,” Yuuri told him, “As long as you want me by your side.”

 

“Forever, Yuuri,” Viktor took Yuuri’s hand and kissed his rings, “I want you to be with me, forever. I want to be a part of your life again. I want your future …your everything.”

 

Yuuri could feel the depth of Viktor’s love for him in those cerulean eyes. He smiled as he said, “Everything that is mine to give, is yours.”

 

When he heard the love in Yuuri’s words, Viktor could not stop kissing his husband. The kiss started deep and grew more passionate the longer they locked lips but before long, they had to part for breaths. A few breaths later, Yuuri dropped the pages and pen to capture his husband’s lips again. Viktor held his husband closer to him as they sat on the floor of Yuuri’s room, just endlessly kissing one another to make up for their lost time together.

 

When they finally returned to the matter at hand, Yuuri sighed, almost complaining, “We are never going to be done with the album, are we?”

 

“I’m afraid not,” Viktor agreed, and then promised, “I will try to stay on the subject from now on.”

 

Yuuri chuckled and said, “Thank you, Viktor.”

 

They finally got started with the page dedicated to their engagement day, and several other photographs from the same day went into the page as well. One was a photograph of the two of them showing a double peace sign on a balcony with the National Museum of Catalan in the background; then there was a photograph of the two of them sitting at a square table, staring down at their prawn paella with starved anticipation; and they even took a photograph with the oddly unique Casa Milà behind them.

 

But Viktor and Yuuri did not spend most of their remaining time in Hasetsu completing the photo album. They still worked around the inn during the mornings and afternoons, but by the time the sun began its descent below the horizon, Viktor would pull Yuuri to take leisurely strolls around the area. With their hands firmly linked together as they walked, Yuuri thought it almost felt like a date; and he loved feeling like the only person who mattered to Viktor at moments like these.

 

One evening as they were strolling along the beach, Yuuri heard barks behind him. He turned, but there was nothing there, nor were there any dogs nearby.

 

“Yuuri?” Viktor called out to him, puzzled.

 

Yuuri turned back to him, and was captivated by the image before him. Viktor’s fair face seemed to glow in the near darkness of the beach, illuminated only by the street light along the road, and his silver hair gently rustled in the sea breeze. Even the stars in the night sky behind him could not compare to the sparkle in his eyes that were looking down at him with worry, and love.

 

“I thought I heard barks,” Yuuri told him.

 

Viktor frowned at his words but as he looked at the beach around them, he recalled another piece of memory that was not inside the now completed photo album. He speculated then that Yuuri might have just experienced a tiny flash from the past. To him – and to Yuuri – it was hope.

 

His hand squeezed Yuuri’s as he shared that memory with him, “Yuuri, we were here before. You, me, Yurio, and my poodle, Makkachin. We spent one late afternoon in the spring right here, by the beach. We played in the sea until the sun set while Makkachin continued to frolic along the shore and barked at the waves, even though we kept telling him to stop. After night fell, we lit the fireworks, and we had so much fun with the sparklers until you started to make light art in the air. The way you moved then… you looked like an angel dancing in the night, and I was too captivated by your beauty to take any photographs.”

 

Yuuri blushed hearing how equally mesmerized Viktor was with him, but he wondered out loud, “…was I hearing things? From the past?”

 

“…maybe,” Viktor answered uncertainly as a gust of wind blew past them, and Yuuri shivered. Viktor quickly removed his own coat and draped it over his lover’s jacket. He suggested to Yuuri, “Let’s go home. It’s getting chilly out here and we need to warm you up. Maybe in the hot spring?” He hinted with a wink.

 

“Sounds good,” Yuuri smiled back at him.

 

“…come in with me?” Viktor tried to suggest, and to his surprise, Yuuri nodded.  

 

But the two of them only got into the hot spring after the closing hours, because Yuuri was still very conscious about the scars on his thighs. He was quick to wash himself in the showers and then hid in the natural hot spring bath, leaving only his neck and head above the water. Meanwhile, Viktor deliberately took his time to give Yuuri some space to brace himself for the inevitable – and naked – bonding moment between them. When he finally headed for the bath, he could see his husband curled up and facing the wall, as if he was hiding from anyone who could see him.

 

Viktor made a silent ripple when he slipped into the bath, and he could see Yuuri’s body stiffened instantly. So he decided to stay where he was and immersed himself in the hot spring a few feet across his husband. Deep inside, he feared the rejection from Yuuri, because he knew bathing naked was a huge mental hurdle for Yuuri, and he might change his mind if he was overwhelmed with nervousness in this situation. But Yuuri stayed where he was and they both sat calmly in the hot spring. Viktor began to feel the warmth seeping into his body and he let out a sigh of satisfaction.

 

“This feels heavenly,” he casually commented, and he could see Yuuri’s shoulders relaxed a little in the water at his words. Yuuri nodded, and so Viktor prodded, “Can I come over?”

 

Yuuri stiffened again, but he braced himself with a deep breath and slowly turned to finally face his Russian husband. Then he abruptly stood up with his eyes shut in fear but before he could get the words he had just rehearsed out, Viktor had already grabbed him by the wrist. The grip was tight, but the arm was shaking; and Yuuri lost his words.

 

“…Viktor?” he called out to him as they both stood naked in the bath.

 

“Why wouldn’t you trust me?” Viktor asked, his voice was low and almost sad as he kept a firm grip on Yuuri; he would not let Yuuri escape a confrontation they both unconsciously postponed. He needed Yuuri to trust him; because coming home with him to Russia meant leaving the people he had always relied on in Japan. If Yuuri could not trust him now, how could he survive in a foreign country?

 

“I-I-I,” Yuuri stammered, “I do!”

 

“Yuuri?” Viktor looked up. He thought he heard him wrong but there was no falseness in his Japanese lover’s quivering voice.

 

“I-I trust you, Viktor,” Yuuri told him again, calmer this time, “You made me want to give life a second chance and… it was you who gave me that chance. You saved my life, Viktor. And you are the only person who could tell me with absolute certainty that I am Katsuki Yuuri. So… of course I trust you. ”

 

 _“I misunderstood,”_ Viktor realized, and the heaviness that was clouding his heart, vanished. He apologized, “I’m sorry. I thought you didn’t trust me.”

 

“…I’m sorry too,” Yuuri apologized, “I-I know I haven’t always been honest, or truthful. But Viktor, I do trust you.”  

 

Viktor pulled Yuuri into a hug and said, “Thank you, Yuuri.”

 

“I-I promise I’ll b-be more h-honest with you-u,” Yuuri told him as his face began to flush red from the zero proximity between their skins.

 

“Me too,” Viktor replied and he was aware of the lust quickly building up inside him. Despite fully knowing how thin the walls were at the inn, he still harboured the secret desire to get lucky. His voice turned deeper and sexier when he called out to his lover next, “Yuuri… I can feel yours… on mine…”

 

“!!!” Yuuri shrieked and stepped back, “I’m sorry! I’ll just go now!”

 

Viktor watched in amusement as Yuuri comically tried to hide his obvious erection and sped away from the bath. He looked down at his own and sighed, “…not tonight.”

 

The next morning, Viktor woke up to find Yuuri missing from his room. He curiously walked down the stairs and as the smell of meat sizzling on pan wafted into his nose, his ears picked up the sound of laughter from the kitchen; it was Yuuri’s laughter, and it was a sound Viktor had not heard in months. His feet quickly led him down the corridor but he chose to stop at the corner, to watch the mother and son prepare breakfast in their merry little kitchen. Viktor’s heart warmed when he saw the smile on Yuuri’s face then; because most smile he had seen on Yuuri was always faked or forced, but today, the smile was bright and completely unreserved.

 

“Vicchan! Good morning!” Hiroko exclaimed as both hers and Yuuri’s smile widened. Then she fussed, “Perfect timing! Help me talk Yuuri out of this, will you?”

 

“Ooooh~ what is Yuuri up to this time, Mum?” Viktor said ominously as he grinned at the supposedly guilty one. He walked closer to the kitchen counter and noted that Yuuri was clearly embarrassed but neither could he contain his smile. Yuuri shifted his gaze downwards and turned away to scoop rice into the empty rice bowls.

 

“Yuuri wants me to make you katsudon for breakfast!” Hiroko answered as she stir-fried the meat sizzling to perfection on the pan, “But you had them almost everyday! So I insisted on making chicken pan fried in teriyaki sauce for breakfast!”

 

“Pork cutlet rice bowl?” Viktor looked at Yuuri, who was actively trying to remove himself from the conversation by focusing his attention onto his next task: filling the empty soup bowls with miso soup.  An idea popped up in Viktor’s mind and he smirked, “Actually I would like katsudon for breakfast.”

 

Yuuri turned and beamed at him, delighted that he was right in guessing Viktor’s desire; but there was something in Viktor’s playful smirk that hinted him of an impending doom.

 

“And I want Yuuri to make it for me,” Viktor said cheerfully.

 

“I-I’m not a good cook!” Yuuri almost dropped the soup ladle back into the pot. He turned to his mother for help but she clearly had no intention of defending him as she tried to hide her surprised gasp behind her hand. She cleared her throat, and just like how Yuuri tried to excuse himself from the conversation, Hiroko busied herself with the stove. She gently removed the chicken pieces from the pan into a little rectangular plate and set it on a tray, beside the bowl of rice and vegetable miso soup.

 

“Well then, please excuse me while I serve Dad his breakfast,” Hiroko announced as she took the tray into her hands. She winked at her son, “Yuuri, you know where the ingredients are.”

 

“B-But I…!” Yuuri nervously played with his fingers when he was left alone in the kitchen with Viktor. He lowered his gaze and muttered, “I’ve never really cooked.”

 

“That’s not true,” Viktor smiled as he remembered the taste of the last bowl of katsudon he had on the morning he left Hasetsu, and Yuuri, behind. He did not know then but he was sure of one thing now, “That katsudon you made me was perfect.”

 

 _“Viktor could not have known,”_ Yuuri stared at him with horror in his eyes. He stuttered, “Where did I go wrong?”

 

“Yuuri,” Viktor calmly repeated himself, “I said, the katsudon you made me was perfect.”

 

“But I followed every step Mum taught me,” Yuuri’s head was not entirely in the conversation. He knew he was an average cook, who would not burn down the kitchen, but now he thought it was a mistake to have challenged himself with his mother’s katsudon recipe for the first time just to satisfy his own feelings of guilt towards Viktor back then. He apologized, “I’m sorry. It must have tasted horrible.”

 

Viktor closed the gap between their bodies, and wrapped Yuuri tightly in his arms. His shorter husband gasped as he stiffened in the embrace, and looked up; his brown eyes were full of worry and doubt. Viktor rested his forehead on Yuuri’s, and asked, “What were you thinking when you made my katsudon?”

 

 “You,” Yuuri answered truthfully.

 

“That’s right. Me,” Viktor nodded lightly, “You remembered I like my pork cutlet crunchier than the way your Mum made hers. Even your seasoning tasted slightly different from hers.”

 

Yuuri became confused, “…but I couldn’t have… remembered.”

 

Viktor smiled as he dove back into his memory of that fateful morning, a few weeks ago, “Your katsudon strangely reminded me of home. For a moment, I thought I could almost see the shadows of my lover in my memories and I instinctively looked to you across the table, but you didn’t look my way.”

 

Sadness seeped into his voice when he spoke next, “I remember feeling disappointed and confused, and yet, despite all that had happened between us the night before, I still adored you. I wanted you to look at me, and tell me to stay, but I was too proud to apologize.” Viktor’s hold on Yuuri tightened as he continued, “I buried those feelings away and never tried to understand them, but now I do. Yuuri, my heart _knows_ you, but my brain couldn’t remember you then.”

 

There was silence between them as Yuuri tried to grasp the meaning behind his husband’s words. As the minutes ticked by, his eyes glimmered with hope again, “…just like how I heard Makkachin’s barks last night… that day, I subconsciously know how to make your pork cutlet… Viktor, I didn’t really lose my memories, did I? I will remember everything again, right?”

 

“I’m sure you will,” Viktor nodded but his fear was silent, _“But I don’t know how to help you, Yuuri.”_

 

The loud growl of a hungry stomach interrupted them. A smile crept onto Yuuri’s face, and it later broke into giggles. Viktor dropped his head onto Yuuri’s shoulder to hide his embarrassingly flushed face. His Japanese husband patted him on the head, and asked, “Do you still want katsudon for breakfast?”

 

“Yes, please,” Viktor nodded, and then looked up, “And I’ll make you yours.”

 

“You know how to make katsudon?” Yuuri was surprised.

 

“Of course I do,” his husband replied with a smirk, “How can I not know?”

 

Despite what he said, Viktor purposely lagged a step behind Yuuri as he discreetly watched and repeated after his Japanese husband. He could remember the times the two of them spent making katsudon in their home at Saint Petersburg; but those memories were often muddled with the memory of his futile attempt at making katsudon while he had amnesia. Even though he diligently followed the torn recipe he had pinned back onto the fridge, he could never recreate the taste of Hiroko’s katsudon; and that failure kept gnawing at him until he left their home for his other apartment again.

 

“Viktor?” Yuuri called out to him as he set his bowl down, “Are you hurt?”

 

“…what? No!” Viktor quickly replied and he turned off the stove in a panic, “I was just… thinking.”

 

Yuuri stood a little closer to Viktor, and dared himself to ask about memories that were not in the photo album, “…did we do this all the time?”

 

“Only when we win the gold medal,” Viktor answered, “As celebration.”

 

“Um, what are we going to celebrate today?” Yuuri wondered softly, and was quickly reminded of Viktor’s bronze medal. He lowered his gaze and stared at his bowl of katsudon by the stove, ready to be served. He could hear Viktor turned away to remove the pork cutlet from the pan and seconds later, a bowl of piping hot katsudon appeared in his sight. Yuuri could almost smell the difference in its scent and he looked up at Viktor, who was grinning down at him.

 

“Today, we celebrate my love for you,” came Viktor’s cheesy reply, “My undying and unconditional love for you.”

 

Yuuri’s lips turned up into a smile as he accepted the bowl of katsudon Viktor specially made for him. Both of them continued to stand in the kitchen – with their bowls of love in hand – and ate in each other’s company.

 

“It’s delicious,” Yuuri said after tasting the first bite of the pork cutlet topped with an egg. He thought he could almost imagine the two of them enjoying their meal by a small wooden table in a white apartment, with the gentle wind rustling the curtains, and the touch of a poodle’s soft brown fur by his feet.

 

“Yuuri?” this time it was Viktor who was concerned about the sudden silence.

 

Yuuri turned his attention back to the present and gazed at Viktor, “…how does it look like?”

 

“What is?” Viktor asked, perplexed at the sudden random question.

 

“…home,” he answered uncertainly.

 

To that, Viktor smiled gently, “You’ll see it for yourself soon enough.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay for fluffs! And Happy Valentine's Day!!!!!!!!!!
> 
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	9. To Love You, Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there! Thanks for following my story and sorry for the 5-months absence. Things have been happening in real life and I am going back to writing as often as I can now.

 

 _“I can’t believe this! I am about to walk into THE Viktor Nikiforov’s apartment in just one minute!”_ Yuuri’s heart could not stop pounding as his eyes darted from side to side – quickly taking in the shades of grey along the wide lobby – while he anxiously waited for the elevator with Viktor, standing closely beside him.

 

A few long seconds later, a chime echoed unexpectedly loud in the lobby. Yuuri gasped in shock as he instantly became alert and straightened himself in his nervousness. His face flushed red with embarrassment when he saw the elevator’s door parted. He screamed in his mind, _“Oh no! This is so stupid! I’M so stupid! Viktor is going to laugh at me!”_

 

But before Yuuri could take a peek at him, the Russian had already reached out for his hand and pulled him into the elevator without a word. As soon as they walked inside, the security device in the elevator automatically read the keycard in Viktor’s pocket and highlighted the designated floor on its display screen. With every second that passed silently between them while the elevator carried them closer to home, Viktor kept their hands linked together and Yuuri could sense the grip on his hand gradually tightened to the point where he could feel Viktor’s pulse racing from his pale hand. Oddly, it gave Yuuri comfort to know that he was not alone in his nervousness, and he finally managed to return the squeeze on his husband’s hand just before they reached the topmost floor.

 

The elevator doors opened to reveal the corridor outside, and Yuuri decided that it should rather be called a private foyer with a view instead. Accessible only to Viktor and anyone else who possessed the keycard to his studio apartment, the short five-foot corridor was lined with glass windows on both sides – overlooking the city, now bathed in late evening glow – and led down to one solitary door at its end. As they drew closer towards the door, Yuuri could hear the door automatically unlocked itself, and his grip on his luggage’s handle tightened. Then, a strangely familiar bark echoed from within. Yuuri looked up at Viktor, who dropped his hand luggage to place a hand on the door’s handle.

 

Viktor’s hold on Yuuri’s hand never loosened, and he nervously said with a smile, “Yuuri, welcome home.”

 

Yuuri, being equally nervous, tried to smile in return as the door clicked open, “I’m hom–wah!”

 

A big brown dog pounced onto Yuuri the second the door was opened wide enough for it to jump out. The lovers’ hands were torn apart as Makkachin landed on Yuuri and proceeded to lick his face and rubbed his furry body on him in sheer happiness of seeing him again after so many months of missing his Japanese dad. Even Viktor had to admit he had never seen Makkachin’s tail wagged so furiously before.

 

“Hi, Makkachin, hello,” Yuuri laughed as he struggled to sit up from the floor and ruffled the poodle’s soft brown curls, “I missed you too!”

 

Viktor watched the scene unfolded before his eyes and smiled as he was reminded of the way they used to come home from practice or competitions. His amnesiac lover’s merry laughter lifted the nervousness in him and Viktor was finally able to grasp the reality that his husband was truly home again. He dropped to his knees and threw his arms around Yuuri, toppling him back onto the floor again.

 

“…you’re really here,” he cried as a confused Yuuri stared up at the purple night sky above the foyer, “You really _are_ home.”

 

“…I’m here, Viktor. I’m home,” Yuuri held him tight even as he spoke words he had no faith in. He did not want to remind Viktor that he was not the Yuuri he once was. Not knowing what else to say in their silent embrace, Yuuri asked, “Did we kiss, here?”

 

“Lots,” Viktor answered as he lifted himself onto his elbows to hover above Yuuri, waiting for his next words.

 

“Then… kiss me?” Yuuri blushed.

 

The second he heard his husband voiced the words, Viktor captured his lips with a kiss. Yuuri reciprocated by bravely circling his arms around his husband’s neck and pulled onto his black scarf to deepen the kiss. Viktor smirked into their kiss as he slid a knee along the inside of his lover’s thighs, and he could hear Yuuri’s whimpers became soft moans the higher his knee went until – Makkachin barked.

 

The two of them parted abruptly to turn towards him. The poodle gave his two humans a softer bark this time before he got up to strut back inside the studio apartment. Viktor cleared his throat; obviously irritated by Makkachin’s timely jealousy, but his anger dissipated when Yuuri began to laugh.

 

“We are still at the door,” Yuuri told him as he tried to muffle his laughter.

 

“We are,” Viktor had to agree when he noticed his lover’s breath in the cold corridor. He stood up to pull Yuuri to his feet and gave him a peck on the lips. He smiled and said, “Come on, let’s get inside and warm you up.” 

 

Yuuri smiled and let himself be led into the apartment as he pulled his large luggage along with the other hand. Once inside, Viktor set down his hand luggage by the window and offered to do the same with Yuuri’s luggage. Freed from his baggage, Yuuri stared at the interior. The white, grey and blue colour scheme was vastly different from the Katsuki’s home that was predominantly brown from the large amount of wood used as its building material. But as he looked at the navy blue couch facing the window, he thought he could almost feel the softness of its material, and the smoothness of the yellow tamago nigiri cushion lying on the couch. Shifting his gaze to the right, Yuuri thought he could see the two of them making meals together at the kitchen, and then sitting down at the small dining table adjacent to the counter with Makkachin sleeping by their feet.

 

It was a home Yuuri could almost recall in a long forgotten memory.

 

Black colour dropped into his sight and Yuuri jumped in shock. Viktor chuckled as he adjusted his scarf around Yuuri’s brown scarf. He told him, “The heating system is already turned on, but it might take a bit more time before the apartment is warm enough for you. I think… the floor is warm enough though.”

 

Yuuri’s gaze fell to his feet, and he noticed that Viktor had already removed his light brown trench coat and was now barefooted. Despite being prone to the cold, Yuuri felt conscious for still being bundled up at home. He hesitantly unbuttoned his dark blue winter coat and hung it up the chair extension beside Viktor’s trench coat. Then he went on to remove his sneakers and as soon as he stepped back onto the floor, he could feel the heat emanating from the floor through his socks; and it was a very much welcomed warmth after a full day of travelling in the cold.

 

“Hey, don’t sleep on the floor now,” Viktor teased when he saw the contented expression Yuuri had on his face. He pointed at a door right by the entrance, “Bedroom’s this way.” 

 

Yuuri pretended to adjust the two scarves around his neck to hide his faint blush and followed Viktor into the room. The corner room had a full view of the city but Yuuri’s eyes became drawn to the sheer whiteness of a large double bed in the middle of the bedroom. He muttered in horrified disbelief, “One… bed…?”

 

Viktor understood that Yuuri was not ready for the proximity, despite all the kisses they had shared and baring every inch of their bodies to each other in the hot spring the night before. He hid his disappointment away and suggested, “I’ll take the couch.”

 

“W-What? No! I-I mean–” Yuuri stammered. The fact that they had been sleeping together should not have come as a shock to his mind, but now he could not stop imagining everything that might have happened on that bed. His face flushed so red in both embarrassment and nervousness that he hid behind the black scarf again. Yuuri caught a whiff of Viktor’s cologne on the scarf in his hands, and his mind blanked; but that few seconds of emptiness brought calmness to his mind again, and he realized he truly wanted Viktor close. Before words could form in his brain, his hand had already reached out for Viktor’s black turtleneck sleeve.

 

Viktor stared at Yuuri; surprised to see the two trembling fingers that had him frozen in place. His Japanese lover was never bold enough to reach out for anyone on his own after the train crash; but he did reach out once – semi-consciously – at the hospital when everyone was talking about Viktor’s bruised lips. That was the reason Viktor understood this moment now to be important; because Yuuri desperately wanted him to listen, and he patiently waited as he watched Yuuri gathered all the fragments of courage within him.

 

He asked with quivering voice, “…did we… sleep together……?”

 

“…yes, we did,” Viktor answered, and his voice was slow and almost hopeful.

 

Yuuri’s timid hold on Viktor’s sleeve tightened as he continued, “Then I… don’t mind sharing the bed… again… with you.”

 

Viktor almost could not believe his bashful lover was willing to share the bed; especially after Yuuri’s nude escape from the hot spring. His hope to make love to Yuuri again had dimmed then and Viktor feared it would take his husband at least months, if not years, before he could overcome initial shyness of their intimate relationship. But as it was, Viktor’s luck might not have run out yet.

 

“Then I’ll take you up on that,” Viktor responded with a wide smile, and he watched with amusement as Yuuri nodded before completely hiding his face behind the scarves again, leaving only his flushed red ears visible. Seeing how adorable his husband was, Viktor could not stop his playful self from pushing the unsuspecting Yuuri onto the bed, and then climbing over the smaller man. He leaned onto Yuuri’s chest as he pulled the scarves lower, and then whispered erotically into his dear husband’s ear, “Since we already had dinner at the airport, let me go fill the bath tub with rose petals… and then I can have you for supper.”

 

Yuuri’s shriek was muffled by the scarves but Viktor heard it loud and clear. He grinned as he kissed Yuuri’s forehead and admitted, “You make me want to tease you sooooo much.”

 

“……Vikkkktooorrrrrrrrr~!!” Yuuri whined in a relieved groan as he hid his cherry-red face behind his hands. Viktor laughed as he stood up to straighten himself again.

 

“But I am still going to run the bath,” he smirked and then said in a less playful tone, “We both need it. Take a rest while you wait.”  

 

Yuuri nodded from the bed; and he continued to lie there, just staring up at the bright yellow bulbs shining from within the glass jars that hung down from the ceiling. For the longest moment, Yuuri could not tell if his hands had gotten hot from absorbing the blush from his face, or if he was actually warming up. He had to take slow and deep breaths to calm himself before he managed to tell that the temperature around his neck was getting higher.

 

 _“I am warm,”_ Yuuri finally decided and sat up to remove the two scarves from his neck. Despite the closed windows, the lack of the smothering yet comforting warmth around his neck seemed far too cold. Yuuri kept his gaze on Viktor’s black woolen scarf, knowing it looked much better on the pale Russian man; but before it was time to return the scarf, Yuuri yearned to hold onto it for a few minutes longer. He held the scarf close to his chest and breathed, catching his lover’s scent again.

 

“I’m here, you know?” a voice stunned him and Yuuri gasped loudly as his hands squeezed the scarf in a panic. He looked to the door and leaning on it, was Viktor.

 

“I’m sorry!” Yuuri stammered, “I-I was just about to return your scarf! I swear!”

 

“If you want the scarf, you can have it,” Viktor said as he walked closer, and stopped to kneel in front of Yuuri. He held his smaller hands and placed a kiss on his rings, and reminded him, “If you want me, I’m already yours.”

 

With words or actions, Viktor’s boldness in proclaiming his love never failed to turn Yuuri speechless and unable to react; but no matter how many times he would blush in silence, he never looked away from Viktor in fear again. And for Viktor, it was proof enough that Yuuri was drawing closer to him; to bridge the distance between their hearts again. If he could, Viktor would wish for more time to stop so he could spend an eternity in love with him; but he realized that he could only treasure every second he could have now with Yuuri, and remember just how warm his husband’s hands could be.

 

Still gazing into Yuuri’s brown eyes, Viktor longed for a response; and it came as a timid squeeze on his hand. Viktor smiled widely in return, and decided to bring them back to the water running in their bathtub. He chuckled as he took the scarves from Yuuri’s hand, “As much as I’d love to get into the bath with you, I need to start unpacking our things.”

 

“A-ah!” Yuuri tugged on their scarves to stop Viktor from standing up, “Let me help. This… is my home too.” 

 

Viktor’s heart skipped a beat at those words, and he relented, “Alright. Then packing will have to wait. I’ll make us coffee while you bathe.”

 

 _“That… might have been too subtle for Viktor to notice,”_ Yuuri realized. He had hoped Viktor would insist on taking a bath together, like in the hot spring the day before. But he got too embarrassed to ask again when Viktor had clearly switched out of his playful mode and was now more focused on getting him used to their home again. Yuuri followed his Russian husband out of the room and nodded along as he listened to him detailing where everything was kept in their home.

 

“I’ve just put your pajamas here, in the topmost basket,” Viktor pointed at the cabinet beneath the sink while he lingered outside the door as Yuuri stepped into the bathroom.

 

Yuuri nodded and said, “…thank you.”

 

“Take your time in the bath,” Viktor said gently, “If you need anything, I’ll be right out here.”

 

He nodded again before Viktor closed the door with a soft click. Yuuri turned to look at the white bathroom – tiled with black and white hexagons – and he thought it seemed almost too spacious for him alone. Shaking those lonely thoughts away, Yuuri dropped his clothes into a laundry basket and stepped into the bathtub. The bath was almost was warm as the hot spring back home, and Yuuri found himself instantly relaxed. He sighed in satisfaction as he stretched out his legs, something he could not have done with small Japanese bathtubs.

 

 _“There are no rose petals,”_ he smiled freely, realizing just how playful his husband could be. When he looked up at the wall again, he thought he saw Viktor in the bath with him; but the mirage vanished in a blink of the eyes. Yuuri suddenly became aware of his own thought, _“…I miss him already.”_

 

Viktor was waiting on the coffee machine in the kitchen when Yuuri walked out of the bathroom in his usual grey sweatpants and a white t-shirt. His black hair was dripping wet, and Viktor quickly noticed it when he stood beside him. Suppressing the desire to attack and devour his sexy husband, he reached out for the towel around Yuuri’s neck instead.

 

“It may be spring, Yuuri, but it is still chilly. You’re going to catch a cold if you leave your hair wet like this,” Viktor nagged as he pat-dry the black hair, “The hair dryer should be by the sink.”

 

“I know but… I thought I wanted coffee first,” Yuuri lied as he looked up, feeling slightly guilty for intentionally making Viktor worry.

 

“Well, no coffee for you until your hair is dry,” Viktor reprimanded as he pulled Yuuri back into the bathroom and proceeded to blow-dry his hair. He certainly noticed the faint smile Yuuri had as the sound of warm air from the hairdryer hummed in the bathroom, but he never would have guessed that Yuuri was celebrating his success in stealing the touches he was too shy to ask for.

 

“Coffee can wait,” Yuuri abruptly said as soon as Viktor set down the hair dryer; and he silently cussed himself for his horribly awkward conversation skills. His Russian husband was clearly puzzled, so Yuuri tried to explain himself, “I-I mean, you should get into the bath too. We can have coffee together after that.”

 

“Great idea!” Viktor smiled widely, grateful for the extra minutes to straighten his mind after a hearty day with his own version of anxiety. The fear of Yuuri being an illusion was vanquished; and his wish to stay close to his beloved – even in sleep – was granted. Considering their current predicament, Viktor thought he could not have hoped for more. And lounging on the couch with Yuuri beside him as they savored coffee in their matching _Stammi Vicino_ mugs while video-chatting with the Katsuki family was more than a dream come true. 

 

Meanwhile, Makkachin was absolutely jealous that Viktor was hogging Yuuri again, and he made his feelings known by wedging himself between his two dads on the couch. Viktor flicked the top of his puffy head to stop him from waking Yuuri, who had already fallen asleep on his shoulder, but Makkachin was having none of Viktor’s selfishness and insisted on getting onto the couch anyway. The poodle struggled and pushed the lovers further apart until Viktor got squashed to the far end of the couch. He gave him a scowl.

 

“…hm?” Yuuri hummed groggily when he felt himself sliding lower to lie on soft and warm fur. He stirred awake and wondered out loud, “I… fell asleep?”

 

“For a few minutes,” Viktor answered as he suffered whips from Makkachin’s fluffy tail and listened to Yuuri’s giggles with jealousy when Makkachin furiously nuzzled up to him with licks. Satisfied with punishing his Russian dad and winning his Japanese dad’s pats and rubs, Makkachin snuggled to lie his head on Yuuri’s shoulder.

 

“Did you want to sleep with me?” Yuuri asked as he gently patted Makkachin’s head while lying rather awkwardly on him. The poodle replied with a lazy lick to Yuuri’s cheek. Yuuri chuckled in response and looked up at Viktor next. He was surprised, “Are you… pouting?”

 

“No, I’m not,” Viktor lied, still pouting.

 

“…I’m sorry I fell asleep,” Yuuri apologized for being thoughtless, “We should have talked longer. I had hoped the caffeine would keep me up.”

 

Viktor reached over and playfully poked at Yuuri’s cheek, he was still pouting when he said, “No, Love. I’m not mad at you but at…” His gaze shifted towards the peacefully sleeping pooch. Yuuri chuckled at his husband’s envious glare and welcomed the kiss that came afterwards. When they parted, Viktor told him, “You must be tired… let’s get to bed.”

 

“…but,” Yuuri nuzzled gently at the soft head beside him, afraid to wake their pet poodle for their own needs. But Viktor was not going to tolerate it tonight; so he scratched Makkachin’s favourite spot by the side of his neck until he woke up. The poodle became torn between feeling good and irritated at Viktor, and finally decided to swipe the human hand away. He failed.

 

“Not tonight, Makka,” Viktor told him as he pulled Yuuri up from the couch. The poodle let out a puff of dissatisfied and defeated breath before he laid his head on the couch again.

 

Yuuri gave him more head rubs and said, “We’ll see you in the morning, and then we can play all day, alright?”

 

Makkachin gave a soft whine in response and only stared longingly as Viktor pulled Yuuri away; he already missed his dads, but tomorrow would always be a better day to play. Stepping away, the luggage by the window caught their eyes, and Yuuri turned to Viktor, who then suggested, “We can unpack tomorrow.”

 

“…right,” Yuuri nodded and lingered a step behind Viktor; because he just thought of a very important question that needed an urgent answer, _“Which side do I sleep on!?”_

 

He desperately hoped Viktor would pick a side first so he would escape the embarrassment of standing in flustered confusion in his own home. But his Russian husband was a gentleman, and he held the door to their bedroom open to let him in first. Yuuri froze for moment and then swiftly took awkward steps inside. His husband helpfully told him, “Yours is on the left.”

 

“Thank you,” Yuuri blurted, and gasped that he unwittingly exposed his big little secret. He spun away from Viktor to shuffle towards his side of the bed and dove beneath the duvet without another word. Yuuri immediately thought himself surrounded by clouds then, but most importantly, he felt warm; and the sense of comfort brought a smile to his face.

 

Viktor chuckled at Yuuri’s loud sigh of contentment from their bed as he shut the door behind him and turned off the lights; but his hands stopped in mid movement as they were about to reach for the hem of his t-shirt. He turned paranoid, _“I doubt Yuuri would feel comfortable if I am fully naked in bed. He might run away to sleep in the living room with Makkachin!”_

 

Letting his hands fall to his sides, he climbed onto the bed; fully clothed in the black sweatpants and grey t-shirt he usually wore to practice. He yawned as he mumbled, “Good night, Yuuri.”

 

But Yuuri’s brown eyes was wide open as soon as he felt the dip and the subsequent movements on the bed as Viktor made himself comfortable. He stuttered his reply, “G-G-Good n-n-ight-t.”

 

The silence between them in the darkness, illuminated only by the night sky from the windows, was awkward, and yet snug. Yuuri shyly turned his face towards Viktor and found him already asleep. He blushed and thought, _“I slept on him earlier on the couch and on the airplane, and we even sat together on my bed back in Hasetsu, but why does it feel so different now, when we’re lying next to each other on the bed?!”_

Yuuri stopped himself from reaching out for his sleeping husband and turned back to stare at the ceiling. His eyes followed and counted the number of blurred lines hanging down, and then Yuuri mentally groaned, _“…great._ _NOW the caffeine is keeping me up!”_

 

Frustrated that he was wide awake despite his body feeling sluggish and tired, Yuuri rolled onto his side to hug the edge of the duvet. A disheartened sigh escaped him as he stared out at the night sky, waiting for sleep to overcome his senses; but he never would have imagined that a pair of blue eyes were staring at his back, nor felt the fingers that barely missed him.

 

Yuuri was so far away from his grasp; and Viktor could never recall him being more than an arm’s length away while they slept in the past. Of all the nights they had spent together on this bed he had bought to welcome Yuuri to his home two years ago, tonight was the first night he loathed; he hated this gap between them. Even though a gap initially existed between them, they quickly grew comfortable enough to close it. But despite waking up in each other’s arms, it took more than half a year and three bottles of vodka before Yuuri made the first move on Viktor and brought their relationship onto the next level.

 

 _“His sleeping face never changed,”_ Viktor realized as he sat on the floor, gazing at his husband’s sleeping form just as the sun was rising. He smiled gently and placed a soft kiss on Yuuri’s forehead before he quietly headed outside. Tucking his hands into his warm pockets, he walked down the street with Makkachin in tow towards the grocery shop just as the early spring breeze blew past him. His mind turned back to Yuuri, _“Those dark circles under his eyes will take a long time to fade away, and he needs to gain some weight.”_  

 

The sun rose higher and was now shining directly at Yuuri from the windowsill. His eyes fluttered open and shut again as he groaned and turned away from the sun. His mind began to wake up and he wondered, _“What time is it? What was today’s plan?”_

 

He paused to sort out his fuzzy thoughts, _“…right, Viktor said he’d take me out on a date. Viktor…? Is he still asleep?”_

 

His hand reached out for Viktor; but his hand found the spot beside him bare and cold. Yuuri sat up with a start and his brown eyes stared at the neatly made portion of the large bed. His breath quickened but he tried to remain calm, _“Maybe he’s at the living?”_

 

“…Viktor?” he called out softly towards the open door, but there was only silence. Swallowing his doubt, Yuuri stepped into the living area, and found it as empty as the kitchen. His pulse began to race, but he tried to be rational, _“Maybe… the bathroom?”_

 

“Vik…tor…?” Yuuri stared at the empty bathroom in horror.

 

He spun around, and his eyes scanned the apartment in a panic, _“Our luggage are gone! Our mugs on the coffee table are gone! Viktor’s gone! Makkachin’s gone! He’s gone! …HE LEFT ME! …AGAIN!”_

Yuuri panicked as the floor hit him and turned everything white. He clutched at his chest and frantically gasped for breaths, _“…where am I?!?!?! Everything I’ve seen last night is gone!!! Everything I thought I had… GONE!!!”_

His mind screamed in agony, _“VIKTOR! WHERE ARE YOU!?”_

Refusing every thought from his mind, Yuuri curled into himself on the floor, and cried until his breaths finally slowed. A voice sneered from the back of his mind, _“You are not the real Katsuki Yuuri, that’s why he left…”_

 

“Yuuri!?” he heard a voice and the subsequent loud thud in his ear almost brought him back to reality. He felt warm hands on his face and he recognized the voice that called out to him, “Yuuri!! Are you alright?! Can you hear me? Look at me!”

 

“…Viktor…!” his eyes strained to correct his blurred sight, but he could never mistake that voice for anyone else’s. His breaths quickened as his fingers reached out to grip Viktor’s coat to pull him close and repeatedly called out his name, “Viktor! Viktor!!”

 

“I’m here, Yuuri,” Viktor hushed and pulled him up into his arms. Feeling the shudders coming from Yuuri’s body as he sobbed his name, Viktor could only tighten his hold on his husband and hoped it was enough to soothe him. Minutes passed before Yuuri finally calmed down enough to reach up for Viktor. With his sight restored, Yuuri wanted to look and touch him so he could be sure that Viktor was truly by his side; to know that Viktor was not a mirage. The warmth of his Russian husband’s face beneath his hands was more than convincing, and Yuuri could clearly hear his voice whispering, “I’m here, Love.”

 

Yuuri’s fingers roamed across his face, touching every curve and feeling the smoothness of his skin. He nodded, “…you’re really here.”

 

Seeing Yuuri had calmed, Viktor sighed in relief. He let Yuuri sit up before asking, “Was it a panic attack?”

 

His brown eyes flitted around in uncertainty, “…I think so.”

 

 _“It wouldn’t have happened without a trigger,”_ Viktor thought, and he pressed on, “What happened?”

 

Yuuri looked away when he answered, “I woke up, and you weren’t there. I looked for you, but I couldn’t find you. I thought you…” He turned to Viktor and then looked away immediately, almost in shame as he finished his sentence hesitantly, “…left.”

 

Viktor apologized immediately, “Oh Yuuri, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you into a panic. I woke up too early, and I went out for groceries. I thought I’d surprise you with breakfast.”

 

Yuuri’s eyes became glossy with tears as he listened. He apologized, “I’m sorry I over reacted. I should have just called you instead of…” 

 

Viktor shook his head as he leaned forward to gather his husband into his arms again, and said, “I should have left a note. I’ll leave one next time, promise.”

 

“Me too,” Yuuri nodded as he circled his arms around Viktor’s waist.

 

Viktor kissed the top of Yuuri’s head before tearing himself away from his lover to look into his eyes. He said, “Yuuri, leaving you is the last thing I would ever think of. I’ve wished for you long before I even know who you were. And when I found you, I wanted you in my life.” He took a breath to hold back his emotions, “After everything we’ve gone through together, the humiliations and the near-deaths, having you here in my arms now is more than I can wish for. If I weren’t so selfish, I would have had you stay with your parents in Japan, where it would be far safer. But I want you home, with me.”

 

“I wanted to come with you,” Yuuri reminded him, “To our home.” 

 

Viktor stared at his husband, who seemed so determined to keep the throne to his heart. He thought the man before his eyes truly was the same person he had known; the one who always seemed like the weakest person but was also someone who could be so strong that he would even lift others up. Viktor smiled and leaned in, but stopped just before their lips could touch and tried to hide a smirk when he asked, “…may I?”

 

Yuuri could not believe Viktor would find the most terrible timing to deprive him of a kiss. He almost thought he should punish Viktor for it; but for now, he desperately wanted that kiss. With a huff, Yuuri pulled Viktor down to seal their lips together. He could feel his Russian husband smirking into their kiss, and it quickly spread over to him. Seconds later, the two of them were chuckling as they laid on the floor of their apartment, and just gazing into each other’s eyes. Viktor reached for Yuuri’s hand and Yuuri gave his warm hands a squeeze in return while his brain worked to put words in order.

 

“Viktor,” Yuuri called out to him as he pushed the boundary of his shyness, “I don’t mind the kisses …I welcome them! So you don’t have to-”

 

Viktor’s kiss was sudden, and full of the heated passion he had been holding back. He playfully nipped at Yuuri’s shy lips before he slid his tongue inside to deepen their kiss. Viktor’s tongue wrestled with his unsuspecting lover’s and elicited a soft gasp when his hand tugged at his sweatpants out of habit. His mind recalled how their playful kisses would sometimes ended up with them naked on the bed; but things could be different now. He kissed his husband again and reminded him, “You are so very dear to me, Yuuri.”

 

Finding no other words in return, Yuuri lightly kissed him and replied, “I love you too, Viktor.”

 

There was double the amount of love behind those words, and Viktor felt it. He kissed his lover again, and again, and again, until they had both forgotten about the world – but Makkachin was there to pull them back to reality. He breathed heavily by their ears and stared at the two of them, drooling.

 

“…I think he’s hungry,” Yuuri commented.

 

“…can’t you wait?” Viktor sighed at their poodle.

 

Makkachin lightly growled and then barked. Yuuri sat up, chuckling, “I think he’s saying he has waited long enough…?”  

 

“I fed him before we went out,” Viktor recounted and then sighed, “But after a walk… he always wants a snack.” 

 

Makkachin barked happily as if to agree, and Viktor grew reluctant to part with his husband, especially after having a very emotional episode. He turned to Yuuri for signs of uncertainty, but all he saw gleaming from his brown eyes was love. Yuuri was already smiling back at him, and then – almost childishly – he said, “Feed me too?”

 

Viktor was instantly defeated by his adorable Yuuri and he pulled him to his feet. He pondered, “I’m thinking of oladi: Russian-styled buttermilk pancakes, for breakfast.”

 

“I’ll help,” Yuuri volunteered, but Viktor stopped him with a kiss to his tear-stained cheeks. He quickly lowered his face to rub his arms across his face, and stopped when Viktor placed another kiss atop his head. He understood the message, “I’ll go wash my face.”

 

Viktor nodded, “I’ll wait for you.”

 

While Yuuri scuttled into the bathroom, Viktor went into to kitchen to refill Makkachin’s bowl and stooped to remove the poodle’s collar as he chowed furiously into his dog bowl. His Russian father chuckled at his antics, and then walked away to pick up the groceries that were still scattered on the floor near the door to their home. He set aside the ingredients he needed neatly on the kitchen island, and kept the rest away. Once that was done, he moved to set the coffee machine to make their brew, and reached down for the drawer to lay out the plates and utensils. Viktor stared down at the brand new items and he hoped Yuuri would not notice.

 

“We don’t cook at home often?” Yuuri asked innocently by his side, and Viktor winced inwardly. Oblivious to Viktor’s reaction, Yuuri examined the plates and commented, “They look almost as if rarely used, or new.”

 

“…because they are,” Viktor answered softly.

 

Yuuri tried to understand him, “Uh… um… Viktor, do we buy new plates regularly…?”

 

“Let’s make breakfast!” Viktor tried to change the subject, and Yuuri instantly turned silent at the smile on Viktor’s face; it was the most insincere he had ever seen on him. Yuuri knew something was horribly wrong. He was worried, but he did not know how to prod without upsetting Viktor. When his eyes caught Viktor taking a step away, Yuuri’s body spontaneously reached out to clutch onto that cream-coloured turtleneck shirt. Time seemed to have stopped for a moment until Viktor turned back to him.

 

“…I broke them all,” Viktor confessed with regret, “Every piece we’ve ever used.”

 

Yuuri did not know how to respond to that confession; he could not react, but he knew there must be a deeper reason that made Viktor lost control. So he stayed silent.

 

“I didn’t remember you… and I broke them all without trying to understand how precious they could have been to us. Back then I thought… I’d rather not know,” Viktor explained, “Because in my ignorance, I thought you secretly left me while I was competing at the Grand Prix Final. I didn’t know who you were, and I became disappointed in a lover I couldn’t remember, who would abandon me over a sport I’ve lived for all my life.”

 

Viktor leaned onto the side of the kitchen island, and hugged himself. He continued, “I could _feel_ you everywhere in this apartment, but I couldn’t remember you, and it was driving me crazy with frustration. I wanted to know who you were, but I was too afraid to ask and everyone would rather pretend you didn’t exist. Only Makkachin would tell me, but I couldn’t understand him.”

 

Yuuri could see the strength in Viktor’s grip on his wrinkled sleeves as the man took a deep breath, “And I became… **_so angry_** at everything that I thrashed the apartment. I wanted you gone, and I thought breaking everything could make that happen. I didn’t know our matching _Stammi Vicino_ mugs were my first birthday gift from you. If I had known, I wouldn’t have broken such priceless gift… now they’re just replicas. They look the same but they aren’t the same…”

 

Viktor was clearly holding back his tears, but Yuuri only had enough courage to lean onto his husband to calm him. Arms quickly circled around Yuuri’s thin waist to pull him closer so Viktor could bury his face onto his lover’s shoulder. Yuuri could feel the shudders from those broad shoulders and he timidly reached up to wrap his arms around Viktor; hoping it would be enough to keep him from breaking down.

 

He heard Viktor’s soft voice, “I even tried to throw my wedding ring out the window.”

 

Yuuri froze in shock, but returned to tighten his hold on Viktor. He reminded him, “…but you didn’t.”

 

“…I couldn’t,” he admitted, “…But I almost did.”

 

Yuuri insisted, “You still didn’t.”

 

“I didn’t,” Viktor nodded lightly and hugged Yuuri closer to him again until the smaller Japanese man had to tiptoe to keep himself steady. With an ear to his chest, Viktor listened to the rhythm of Yuuri’s heartbeat. He commented, “It’s so fast.”

 

“W-W-Well, that’s because –” Yuuri stuttered as he looked down at the mop of silver hair on his chest.

 

“…because you’re alive,” Viktor finished for him.

 

Yuuri turned silent for a moment, and then nodded, “I am alive.”

 

Viktor tightened his hug and Yuuri gave a tiny yelp when he was lifted off his feet. He was lighter than he had ever been, Viktor thought, and the difference in his husband’s weight was so obvious that it brought his mind back to their kitchen. He said, “…we should make breakfast.”

 

“…right!” Yuuri agreed nervously as they released one another from their tight hug.

 

Viktor only let Yuuri help set the table before he made his husband sit at the table in front of the kitchen island stove while he mixed the ingredients for oladi into a bowl. The sight of Chef Viktor in a red and white checkered apron brought a smile onto Yuuri’s face, and he watched in delight as Viktor began to fry mini pancakes on a pan, right in front of him. The delicious smell of breakfast soon wafted in his direction and Yuuri almost drooled looking at the golden pancakes on his plate. He turned to the various spreads on the table: butter, syrup, sour cream, and jams; the Japanese thought the oladi looked delicious enough to be eaten on its own, and he was tempted to.

 

Viktor set down their two mugs of coffee from over the stove, and noticed Yuuri’s dilemma. He smirked inwardly as he removed his apron and took a seat beside Yuuri. He told him, “You can have the oladi with syrup, sour cream, or jams, if you like.”

 

But Yuuri wondered, “How do we usually eat this?”

 

“With fresh fruits,” Viktor answered and added, “For the so-called ‘healthy and balanced diet.’”

 

“I see,” Yuuri looked towards their fridge, but Viktor stopped him from getting up.

 

“You liked it plain. Or with butter and syrup on cheat days,” he winked, and Yuuri almost blushed knowing his preference seemed to be the same. He listened to Viktor as he continued, “Adding sugar and fat into your diet is usually a big no-no but we make exceptions sometimes. And today is most definitely a cheat day.”

 

Yuuri looked on as Viktor spread butter all over Yuuri’s pancakes and squeezed a generous amount of syrup on them. It might have looked too much for anyone else, but for Yuuri, it was just perfect to satisfy his sweet-tooth. As he bit into the first piece of oladi, the buttery sweetness of the syrup almost overwhelmed his taste buds and he marveled at the amazingly soft pancake with a crispy crust.

 

“This is delicious!” Yuuri exclaimed happily as he took another bite and savoured the taste of heaven.

 

The chef smiled widely at his delighted husband and thought he looked less like a piglet now, and more like a hamster with both his cheeks greedily stuffed full of oladi. Viktor poked his puffy cheek with a playful smirk, and Yuuri shied away – embarrassed – but he never released his hold on his fork or his oladi. The Russian went on to dip one of his own oladi into sour cream, and brought it up to Yuuri’s lips, who instantly took a bite. His smirked widened when Yuuri froze in mid-chew; then he burst into laughter when the grouchy Yuuri wordlessly squinted a warning at him for that sour prank as he gulped down the oladi.

 

As inseparable as they were as a couple, both Viktor and Yuuri had their differences in various aspects of their lives; with their mismatched preference in food being their biggest problem whenever they had to plan their meals. But they learned to agree on what was best for their diet as athletes, and only argued about their cheat meals; because Viktor would always insist on treating Yuuri to the best restaurants in town when Yuuri was more than happy to stay indoors in his pajamas holding a large bowl of katsudon in front of the television. Both Viktor and Yuuri had opposing personalities from being raised by two different families in two separate countries, and molded by their environment’s culture and societal values, but they were determined to make space for tolerance and acceptance; and learned the meaning of _life_ and _love_ through one another.

 

For Viktor, knowing Yuuri had no memories of their time together was almost unbearable, but as he watched his beloved making the same blissful face while he chewed on his breakfast, Viktor thought he had everything again. He silently vowed in his mind to cherish every precious second he could spend with Yuuri. After coming too close to losing him forever to death twice in the past few months, Viktor still faced the possibility of never seeing his husband again if he failed to win the gold medal in the upcoming Grand Prix Final. Between now and doomsday, every moment he could have with Yuuri might end up as memories replayed behind bars.

 

“Viktor?” Yuuri called.

 

“Hm?” Viktor smiled, and noticed that his plate was already empty, “Want some more?”

 

Yuuri shook his head. He reached for Viktor’s arm and asked, “You’ve not eaten yet. Are you alright?”

 

“Of course I am! I was just too smitten by you!” Viktor grinned and tried to hide his feelings. He knew it did not work from the worried look on Yuuri’s face but before he could be defeated by those brown eyes, Viktor leaned in for a kiss. He said, “As long as you’re with me, I’ll be alright.”

 

“So!” Viktor changed the air with an exclamation, “I said I’d bring you out on a date today. Where shall we go?” He thought for a while and suggested, “Percorso is the best restaurant in Saint Petersburg that serves amazing Italian food. Or maybe you want to dine by the river at Letuchiy Gollandets? We can even take a cruise down the Neva River! Yuuri, what do you think? Any requests?”

 

“I…” Yuuri lowered his head. He felt selfish to ask.

 

Viktor insisted with bright sparkly eyes, “Anything you want.”

 

“I want to know how we lived here,” Yuuri blurted with his eyes shut. Seconds passed and there was no response from Viktor. He nervously tried to backtrack, “I-I-I’m sorry! It’s a bother, right? I-I mean! Take me wherever you think is good! Italian at Picaso sounds good! Right! Let’s go there?”

 

“On our off days, we’d stay home,” Viktor recalled with tears brimming in his eyes, “We’d take long walks with Makkachin to the park, and sometimes we’d have a picnic if the weather permits. On our way home, we’d grab groceries to make meals together. And we’d cuddle right on the couch or bed in the evening. Is that what you want? Something so simple…?”

 

Yuuri nodded, “…It’ll mean the world to me.”

 

“Then it’s decided,” Viktor smiled and quickly finished up his breakfast. After they took time to leisurely enjoy their morning coffee, Yuuri offered to wash the dishes. Relieved from his chef duty, Viktor stood next to Yuuri and lent a hand in drying the plates while showing him where everything was kept. Remembering what was where seemed to come easily to Yuuri, as if he unconsciously knew the content of each drawer and cabinet Viktor had opened. 

 

From the closet outside the bathroom door where Yuuri was changing out of his pajamas, he could hear Viktor speaking in both Russian and English to try to coax Makkachin out of his nap in their bedroom; but the poodle responded with a tired grunt and a loud sigh. Yuuri walked into the room and asked, “He’s not up for another walk?”

 

“Seems so. He’s probably tired from the walk in the morning,” Viktor gave up and turned to Yuuri, “Looks like it’s just you and me then.”

 

Yuuri nodded at his husband with a smile, and then patted the brown pooch lying on their bed, “We’ll be home soon, okay?”

 

Makkachin gave a soft whine as a reply. He was feeling lazy after gorging down on his breakfast too quickly, but his eyes never left his two parents as they walked away towards the door. His beady eyes caught the moment Viktor wrapped his black woolen scarf around a surprised Yuuri.

 

“It’s a cold day today,” Viktor told Yuuri, “This will keep you warm.”

 

Yuuri was about to offer his scarf in return but he quickly realized his cheap scarf was not as warm as Viktor’s. He turned around for the closet, “I’ll get you another scarf.” 

 

Before he could take a step away, Viktor had reached over his shoulder and snatched the brown fleece scarf from his hands. Yuuri managed to tug onto the scarf’s end – feeling reluctant to lend Viktor his worthless scarf – but Viktor adamantly said, “I want yours.”

 

“But you said it’ll be cold,” Yuuri tried to argue.

 

The cold-proof Russian chuckled, “Don’t worry. I can take this weather. And if I do get cold, you can keep me warm.”

 

“Wha- but- right- I meant- no wait- cold- and how-” Viktor snickered at the way Yuuri got flustered but still tried to convince him otherwise in stutters. He shut him up with a kiss and used the lapse in Yuuri’s brain malfunction to free the scarf from his grasp and wound it around his own neck. By the time Yuuri came back to life, Viktor was already holding the door open for him with a charming smile, “Shall we?”

 

Yuuri learned that Viktor could be very whimsical and mischievous at times. So he relented and went along with Viktor’s cue; he stepped out of the door and found his gloved hand firmly in Viktor’s grasp while they waited for the elevator. His heart skipped at the gesture but he could feel the tension building between them as they rode the elevator down to the lobby. Yuuri became confused at Viktor’s silence; he had been so keen on taking him out on a date earlier, but now he seemed reluctant. And then, Viktor released his hand as soon as they got onto the wet sidewalk. Yuuri turned to Viktor, and saw the regret written on his face… and also a small hint of shame.

 

 _“Ah, that’s right,”_ Yuuri realized, _“We must not behave inappropriately in public.”_

 

He forced a smile and cheerfully asked Viktor, “Where to, tour guide?”

 

Viktor noticed the way Yuuri was reacting to his disappointment of not being able to openly show off their relationship. His heart almost broke seeing Yuuri putting on a brave front; but that smile also gave him courage. He resolved again to make this day one of the best days in Yuuri’s new life. He smiled and said, “This way.”

 

He led Yuuri down the path they took every morning to the ice rink. Viktor would pause in their walk whenever they passed by a store or a café to tell Yuuri of the memory they shared at that place. And he would wait for Yuuri to snap a photograph and finish typing the memory into his diary before they moved on. For Yuuri, the date was perfect and filled with new memories and information; but for Viktor, it was uneventful and he was almost saddened by the 2-feet distance between them when they walked and also for speaking to Yuuri as if he was a mere friend visiting the country.

 

The Prince St. Vladimir Cathedral loomed ahead as they turned around a corner and Yuuri was mesmerized by its almost pure white exterior and light blue domes. Viktor smiled when he recalled Yuuri making the exact same face when he first saw the old cathedral that stood in stark contrast with the plain buildings surrounding it. They walked into the park opposite the cathedral and Viktor found an empty bench. He sat gazing at Yuuri as he loaded his mobile phone with more photographs of their surroundings. When Yuuri finally came to sit beside him, Viktor began explaining more about the area to him.

 

“We usually take Makkachin here for walks,” Viktor told him and then pointed away from the park, at a large round arena across the road, “And that’s where we practice, at the Yubileyny Sports Palace.”

 

“T-That’s-s n-near,” Yuuri stuttered as he shivered, “F-From where we li-live.”

 

Viktor immediately cursed at himself for being so absorbed in telling Yuuri about their lives that he failed to notice Yuuri’s red nose beneath the black scarf. He quickly stood up, “There’s an Italian restaurant up ahead. Come on, let’s get you warmed up.”

 

There did not seem to be any sign of a restaurant when they entered the office building next to the Yubileyny Sports Palace, but Yuuri was glad to be anywhere indoors. The temperature in Saint Petersburg might have been similar to winter in Japan, but Yuuri could sense that the Russian chill was most definitely harsher. He took a deep breath through his lover’s scarf and stepped in after Viktor into an empty elevator. Just as the doors closed, he felt his back pushed against the side of the elevator, and warmth on his lips.

 

“Your lips are so cold,” Viktor kissed him again.

 

Yuuri secretly hungered for more warmth and he almost wished they could be home right now, so Viktor could keep him warm with kisses. But they were not home; they were out in public, where eyes were everywhere. He reminded Viktor, “…Viktor, we’re outside…”

 

“There are no cameras in here, so it’s alright,” he told him with another kiss, but a chime forced Viktor to stiffen; they had reached the topmost floor to the restaurant.

 

The sign said “Makaronniki”, and there was scarcely a crowd at the restaurant since it was barely lunch time. A waitress led them to a table by the window overlooking the terrace outside, and Yuuri could feel the warmth in the restaurant enveloping him the instant he removed his winter jacket and relaxed into the sofa. He loosened the scarf and left it hanging from his neck, so he could still smell Viktor from across the table. Yuuri gasped when he felt a little tap on his foot.

 

He looked up at Viktor, who asked him with a straight face, “Is hot chocolate alright?”

 

“Yes!” Yuuri blurted at the waitress, “…please.”

 

After the waitress walked away, Yuuri felt a leg brushing against his under the table. This time, Viktor had a smirk plastered on his face as his secret lover blushed deeply. He could almost read Yuuri’s mind, “Miss me already?”

 

Yuuri did not answer but buried his face into the scarf.

 

“Viktor? …and Yuuri?” a voice called out with surprise. Both of them turned to look at the person standing by their table; a tall pale man with slicked black hair.

 

Viktor smiled, “Georgi! I thought you hate Italian food!”

 

“My date loves Italian, and I had a class down at the rink. So this place is convenient,” Georgi confessed and looked around the restaurant for the woman of his dreams. His face lit up when he found her sitting at a table across the room, and he blew her a kiss before turning back to the odd couple again. He said, “Since you’re back, why don’t you guys pop down the ice rink? Everyone’s been missing Yuuri after all.”

 

Viktor left the decision to Yuuri, who nodded with a smile, “…okay.”

 

“Great! See you there then!” Georgi exclaimed enthusiastically and then left to join his date, oblivious to Yuuri’s hesitance; but Viktor did.

 

He suggested, “We don’t have to go today.”

 

Yuuri was quiet as he reasoned with himself in his mind, and then spoke, “Well… since we _are_ here…”

 

“Yuuri, we don’t have to meet anyone if you don’t want to,” he told him.

 

It was tempting to agree with Viktor, but Yuuri thought he would rather suffer through the meetings now than fret over it for days or weeks, fearing the day he would need to meet the people he should have remembered. He steeled himself to argue against Viktor, “I want go today.”

 

Viktor relented, and gave Yuuri a nod, “Then we shall go to the ice rink after this.”

 

Yuuri nodded back without a word, and they fell into another awkward silence. His fingers grew cold from his nervousness and he was grateful beyond words when a waitress came by with their hot drinks. He quickly wrapped his bare hands around the mug of hot chocolate, and sighed at the warmth seeping into him. Their pasta arrived soon afterwards, and the scrumptious meal thawed his anxious heart.

 

The Russian legend sat silently across the table. He observed how Yuuri seemed to be collecting warmth from their food to mentally prepare himself for the inevitable meeting; but he longed to be the one Yuuri would look to for strength. He wanted Yuuri to rely on him, and it took almost all of his willpower to hold himself back from reaching over the table for Yuuri’s hand.

 

 _“What if Yuuri doesn’t need me? What if he could live without me?”_ a thought suddenly haunted his mind, and he sat still.

 

Stuck in their own dilemmas, both Viktor and Yuuri barely noticed their chats had turned brief when they exited the restaurant and headed for the ice rink. The bare grey walls inside the Yubileyny Sports Palace seemed familiar to Yuuri, but he hastened to follow Viktor and stopped when a group of female figure skaters squealed and waved at Viktor excitedly. Viktor turned back to Yuuri with a smile and walked ahead, leaving the Japanese foreigner to wait on him as he greeted to his fans.

 

 _“…I might have found myself a wife and have children…”_ Viktor’s words in the park echoed in the back of Yuuri’s mind as his own heart squeezed at the sight of Viktor being surrounded by young and beautiful ladies; blondes and brunettes with fair complexions and voluptuous bodies. He felt as if he was slapped with the realization that his handsome Russian husband could have had anyone of his liking, if it wasn’t for him. 

 

 _“Why me?”_ he asked with the knowledge that he was as weak and frail as his past self, _“Why did you choose Katsuki Yuuri?”_

 

“Somebody’s looking jealous,” a voice said by his ear. Yuuri spun around and came face to face with deep blue eyes belonging to a red-haired young woman. She grinned as she pulled him into a hug, “Hey Yuuri! How’ve you been?”

 

“M-Mila!” Yuuri recalled the name of the figure skater from a photograph Viktor showed him. His brain scrambled to return the casual greeting and opened the mental folder containing information on Mila Babicheva. He tried not to stammer as he linked word after words, “Um, I’ve been okay. And you? How’s practice? Ready to defend your world title again this year?”

 

“Of course I am!” Mila said confidently, but groaned the next second, “But I doubt I’m keeping my current boyfriend with the training schedule Yakov just gave me. He is being so strict on me lately.”

 

“Isn’t he always?” Yuuri commented with a sympathetic smile.

 

She laughed, “You’re right!”

 

Viktor returned to Yuuri’s side, and he did not seem pleased with Mila’s close proximity to his lover. He hid his jealousy behind a smile, “You two seems to be having fun.”

 

“Of course!” Mila hugged Yuuri again and she pouted at Viktor, “After that accident, you sent Yuuri back to Japan, away from us all! How cruel! You knew how much we would miss our Japanese Yuuri!”

 

Yuuri decided to stay quiet when he sensed a misunderstanding, and he caught Viktor giving him a slight nod. The female world champion next to him straightened up, and said to her Russian rink mate, “Well, seeing how badly injured Yuuri was, and then there’s your crazy training schedule, I supposed it was best for Yuuri to recuperate in Japan. You can be such a klutz sometimes and I definitely wouldn’t rely on you to take care of Yuuri!”

 

“I’m glad you understand,” Viktor played along.

 

But Mila can be too perceptive sometimes, out of her love for the people she cared for. She asked, “But now that Yuuri’s back, what about your plan to migrate to Japan? Wasn’t that why you wanted to sell your apartment?”

 

Viktor was caught off guard by the assumption she concluded from all the actions he impulsively took. He quickly answered, “I have a change of plan.”

 

“Ugh, you’re 30, Viktor,” Mila shook her head, “You’re way too old to be making decisions on a whim. Poor Yuuri is going to get dragged all over the place because of you!”

 

Viktor laughed, “I suppose it is time for me to be a proper adult.”

 

“Oh shoot!” Mila exclaimed when she checked her watch, “Yakov’s gonna have my head! I’m late for practice. See ya later!”

 

She ran off without another word, leaving the two stupefied secret lovers in the hallway. Once Mila was out of sight, both of them sighed in unison and looked at each other. Viktor was clearly relieved for escaping a dreaded conversation, while Yuuri found it easier to breathe not guarding a secret. But Yuuri was curious; because Mila seemed to have a very different version of the truth. He did not know how to phrase his question, and it turned into, “Vik…tor…?”

 

Viktor’s eyes glanced to the left and right, to make sure no one was near enough to listen. He took a step closer to Yuuri and answered in a hushed voice, “She doesn’t know. Only a limited few knew about my arrest, and the deal. Or the extent of my amnesia, and yours. Mila probably got her information from the news and gossip magazines, or maybe she managed to piece information off the bits Yakov and Yurio accidentally leaked out. But she means well.”

 

Yuuri smiled and commented, “Yes, she does seem like a lovely person.”

 

Viktor merely nodded and as they continued down the hallway. He tried to make light conversation, “I’m surprised you remembered Mila’s achievement.”

 

“Well, it isn’t hard to remember someone as amazing as her,” Yuuri answered and recalled the numerous articles he read on figure skating during their long flight to Saint Petersburg, and one headline that mentioned Mila, _“Russian Beauty Dominates the World Again!”_

 

A forceful tug suddenly pulled Yuuri into a darkened room. He yelped when his back was pushed up against a metal wall just as a violent kiss descended upon him. In his fear, Yuuri quickly broke the kiss by turning his face away, but Viktor chased after his lips. He then tried to push the taller man away but his bony wrists lost their power under Viktor’s strong grasp.

 

“…Vik… stop!” Yuuri begged in between unwilling kisses.

 

Viktor heard the plea, and stopped. But he was still boiling with envy, “Did you, for a moment, think she’s beautiful?”

 

Yuuri froze; he almost failed to recognize his lover’s voice that became heavily laced with ugly jealousy. He did not answer Viktor; he could not find his voice. He squirmed under Viktor’s intense glare, and wished someone would walk into the locker room to save him but the hallway was barren and not even an echo of a footstep could be heard.

 

“Well?” Viktor insisted as the grip on Yuuri’s wrists tightened.

 

“…no,” Yuuri lied, because he thought that was the answer Viktor wanted to hear.

 

“But she _is_ beautiful,” Viktor stated the fact, and he was almost heartbroken, “Yuuri, why did you lie?”

 

“…why are you asking me this…?” Yuuri’s frightened voice was barely a whisper, “…Viktor…?” 

 

“…that’s not how you called me,” despair seemed to break Viktor just then, at the sound of his own name from his lover’s lips. He took a step back, and sensed the tightness on his arm’s muscle from holding onto Yuuri. He quickly released his terrified husband, but he was too ashamed to apologize for how he had let his emotions controlled him. Viktor looked away and said, “The rink is this way.”

 

“…Vi…” Yuuri could not bring himself to call out his name. He trailed behind Viktor, and gripped the warm black scarf around his neck, _“How did Yuuri call him? What am I doing wrong?”_

 

Barely holding back the tears that threated to surface, Yuuri forcibly turned his attention back to dread meeting more strangers for the day. He rehearsed a few lines to prepare his mind to greet the friends he should have remembered; and he reminded himself to put on a smile. With his head still hung low, he tried to practice a smile, but his lips remained tight.

 

“Yuuri?” he heard his name. Yuuri looked up and saw Viktor holding the door open for him. He nervously stepped into the indoor arena with a bow; a silent gratitude from his Japanese roots. Once inside, he quickly found himself feeling lost as he looked down at the group of people skating in the ice rink. It was only at this moment that Yuuri himself realized that he had been shadowing Viktor’s every move since they landed in Saint Petersburg. He turned back to Viktor, but his Russian guide merely walked past him and said, “This way.”

 

Those words seemed far colder than the chilled air in the arena, but Yuuri decided to suppress the waves of emotions. He told himself, _“I can hide later.”_

 

“Viktor!! AND YUURI!!”  there were more cheers the closer the two of them got to the side of the rink. Yuuri plastered a smile on his face and did a quick scan of the skaters as they started to gather near them. He noticed a few new faces amongst the familiar ones; and everyone seemed to know who he was. They spoke to him with huge smiles on their faces, as if they were meeting the idol of their dreams.

 

Yuuri held onto his stiff smile, and returned the greetings that were thrown at him, “Hello! It’s been a long time. Have you been well?” Looking at the face of a shy beginner, his smile softened and he asked, “Has training been hard on you?”

 

The ten year old child shook his mop of curly brown hair, and asked, “Is your ankle okay?”

 

“It’s healing well,” Yuuri was surprised to know a total stranger cared about him, “Thank you for your concern.”

 

“Then, can you come practice with me again?” the boy asked excitedly, “I’ve started practicing jumps a lot lately! I can even do the toe-loop now! And someday, I want to master the triple axel, like you!”

 

 _“Of course,”_ Yuuri’s brain reminded him, _“He looks at me as Katsuki Yuuri, the figure skating champion.”_

 

“That’s great news, Ivan! Well done!” Viktor cut into the conversation, “But the doctors said Yuuri can’t go onto the rink just yet.”

 

“Aw…” the boy and a few others murmured with disappointment.

 

Yuuri stumbled for words of encouragement, “W-When you guys landed a jump, let me know! I’ll treat you to ice-cream again!”

 

 _“Again?”_ Yuuri wondered at the word he blurted in his nervousness, but the laughter and cheers quickly grounded him again. The children rejoiced, “Really!? YAY!!!!!”

 

“Break time’s over! Back to practice!” a voice shouted, and everyone turned to Yakov, who had been incredibly lenient on his students since the two figure skaters made an appearance. Seeing the ominous scowl on his broad face, everyone scattered back into the rink and minded their own practice. He walked closer and scoffed at Viktor, “Since you’re here, I have something to discuss with you. It’s about your training.”

 

“I’ll be quick,” Viktor said when he turned back to Yuuri, and then promptly walked away with his old coach towards a nearby bench by the rink.

 

Yuuri suddenly found himself feeling incredibly lonely. He turned away and head up the stairs of the arena for a seat at the top row where it was high enough so no one could clearly see his face. The chill in the room and the sight of black specks gliding across the ice felt calming, somehow. Yuuri fished for his mobile phone out of a pocket and snapped a photograph of the ice rink. He saved it into his diary app, along with a short text describing it. Once that was done, he scrolled up to read the other entries of the day and stared at the photographs he had taken during their walk. Most of them had a fraction of Viktor in it, whether it was just the side of his face, or a part of his shoulder; because Yuuri was too embarrassed to ask Viktor to pose for him. His fingers paused when he recalled the incident in the locker room just minutes ago. His eye found Viktor again, still down by the rink side, and he thought, _“He’s acting as if it didn’t happen.”_

 

He heard footsteps, and turned to his side. Yuri Plisetsky stood beside him in his black leather jacket, and muttered, “Did something happened?”

 

“Ah, um, no,” Yuuri stuttered his reply and tried to be half honest, “Just… met too many people in one day.”

 

“Ugh, you whiny introvert,” Yuri rolled his eyes, “You’re gonna meet more people than this during competitions!”

 

“Ahaha, I know what you mean,” Yuuri laughed nervously when he recalled the sea of people who attended the Worlds Figure Skating Championship recently. He already had first-hand experience of being drowned out by journalists and reporters, and he joked, “This time Mr. Morooka might not be there to save me.”

 

“He did?” Viktor joined the conversation unexpectedly. Yuuri froze, sensing something remotely similar to anger in his voice.

 

But Yuri was oblivious. He remarked, “That was quick. Yakov’s meetings always ended up being an hour’s lecture.”

 

“I cut him short,” Viktor answered, and then turned to Yuuri with a tight smile, “You must be tired. Let’s go home.”

 

Yuri complained, “What, you guys just only got here. I didn’t even get to talk to Katsudon properly!”

 

“Next time, Yurio!” Viktor joked, almost half-heartedly.

 

“Asshole!” the younger skater spat.

 

Yuuri tried to reason with the Russian junior, “I’ll come by again soon.”

 

This time, Yuri felt the tension in the air around the couple. When his blue-green eyes bore into Yuuri’s brown ones, he saw the insecurity in them. He turned to Viktor next, and all he saw on that smug face was impatience. Yuri reminded him, “You’d better not make Katsudon feel out of place. He’s already the only Asian around here.”

 

He was expecting the usual sarcastic comeback from Viktor, but he got a warning instead, “Keep your nose out.”

 

Yuuri jumped to his feet when he sensed the danger. He tugged onto Viktor’s sleeve and pleaded, “Let’s go?”

 

His blue eyes never stopped glaring at his junior even as he let himself be pulled away. There was only silence between Viktor and Yuuri when they walked out onto the street. Viktor never spoke a word as he led them home again, and Yuuri dared not call his name for attention, especially not after the incident at the locker room. He could not understand Viktor’s jealousy, but he understood enough that Viktor needed time with his thoughts; so Yuuri kept his silence, and quietly took care of Makkachin as Viktor sat immobile on their couch.

 

The Russian knew he was clearly confused by his own emotions and he recognized the need to sort them out before he let his emotions control him again. He delved deep into the root of his insecurity, and he found envy embedded in his anger. But envy was never foreign to him; he had always been envious of everyone who came close to Yuuri, and he always made a comedic spectacle of themselves whenever he grabbed Yuuri back to his side. He never blamed Yuuri for looking at others, because he knew Yuuri’s heart belonged to him.

 

 _“But I don’t know where Yuuri’s heart is now,”_ Viktor realized, and his grip on his trousers tightened, _“After everything I’ve done… and said… to hurt Yuuri, his heart may not be mine. And I became angry at him… because I was afraid of him leaving me for others.”_

_“I need to apologize for being such a failure as his lover,”_ Viktor decided and snapped his attention back to the present. The sky outside the window was turning reddish-orange, and he gasped at how much time had gone by while he was probing his thoughts. A sniffle in the silent apartment alerted him to his current quest to find Yuuri; and he found his beautiful lover sitting on their bed, illuminated by the sunset sky behind him. But his heart stopped and his mind blanked with horror when he saw the tears falling from those honey-brown eyes, and onto a dead mobile phone. It was the one Viktor had hidden underneath his pillow earlier that morning after he unpacked their luggage, while Yuuri was still asleep.

 

“…Yuuri…?” Viktor cautiously called out to him as his mind began to panic. Even the densest lover in the world could imagine what was rushing through his lover’s mind when he found an unidentified mobile phone hidden under a pillow.

 

“…the past week, I’ve been… _so happy_ … I forgot…” Yuuri murmured softly between snivels. Without his glasses, the world was a blur but at that moment, all he could see was the black outline of the mobile phone in his palms. He clenched hard onto its cold exterior and whimpered, “…I forgot… you had a life… without me……”

 

His breath stopped when Yuuri’s words confirmed the fear he had. Viktor quickly tried to explain, “Yuuri, this is not…”

 

“You said I lied,” Yuuri drew a shuddering breath, and said, “But you’ve been lying to me all along… and hid this from me…”

 

“This isn’t how it looks!” Viktor was too desperate to correct him, and his tone came off wrong; it was too strong, and too rough.

 

And to Yuuri’s ears, it sounded like anger. His mouth retaliated before he could even comprehend his own mind, “…was that why you told me off at the playground? You were trying to get rid of me! Why did you even come when Mari called? I didn’t need your pity! If you hadn’t come, I could have d–”

 

“YUURI!!” Viktor rushed forward to wrap his arms tightly around his husband, who lost his words at the fierce embrace. He sat stoned on the bed as he listened to the quiver in Viktor’s voice when he spoke next, “…please, never say that again. If I had come one minute later, I might not have you here. I could have lost you forever.”

 

But Yuuri stubbornly held onto anger. The more he struggled to free himself, the stronger the arms around him squeezed. Viktor, in his despair, had become so much stronger that Yuuri resorted to falling backwards onto the bed, hoping to throw Viktor off his balance. He succeeded, but only for a brief second before he felt the Russian stranger’s knees by his hips, pinning his lower body in place. The only item that escaped the desperate lock was the mobile phone, which slid off the bed and dropped onto the floor with a loud thud; it did not went unnoticed by the two of them.

 

“Let me go…!” Yuuri struggled defiantly as he tried to move his arms.

 

“…I need you here…” Viktor begged. Even as he felt his arms began to grow numb from holding onto his lover, his instinct was warning him against letting Yuuri slip away from his grasp. He believed that if he did, Yuuri would disappear forever from his life. Viktor knew he had to undo the misunderstanding before Yuuri could find his escape. He told the truth, “It’s yours. The phone… is yours.”

 

“…liar!” Yuuri shouted even as his voice was muffled by Viktor’s shirt. He could not stop his mind from re-reading the headlines of every scandal Viktor had been involved in since January. His heart twisted painfully in knots when he recalled photographs of Viktor, walking with an arm around dozens of women he did not have the stomach to remember. And his mind spoke out loud, “You’ve slept with so many! Maybe even on this very same bed!”

 

“No!” Viktor denied with his head shaking vigorously to the sides, and tears of guilt sprang forth the second he realized his scandals were known to Yuuri. He had done it on purpose to spite his traitorous lover; but he never understood how deep his love for his innocently loyal lover was until now. Though it might be in vain, Viktor tried to explain, “I’ve never brought anyone home. …but yes, I… have brought women into my hotel room, but I’ve never slept with any one of them. The kisses felt disgustingly wrong, and I couldn’t bring myself to touch them! …please… believe me!”

 

“How _can_ I?” Yuuri cried as the flirtatious smiles on those swooning fangirls earlier that afternoon flashed into his mind. Immense jealousy overpowered his mind and he could easily imagine Viktor in a white suit, kissing his bride. He felt desperate to flee; he could not stand the thought of attending a wedding to bless Viktor’s married life. The logical – and the most jealous – part of his mind screamed, _“One of the girls is going to take him from me! She will become his wife!”_

 

“…I only want you,” Viktor’s ardent voice was lost to the clamor in his mind.

 

Yuuri saw what he lacked that Viktor wished for, and his mind unwillingly whispered the reality, _“…she can bear him children… and they… can be so_ happy _together… It’s the only thing I can’t give him. I am just a burden. I have no right to be jealous …or wrong him for cheating on me…”_

 

“Yuuri…?” Viktor called out to him as his own heart tore apart seeing the way his lover was shattered by his doings. He could see the turmoil in his brown eyes that glimmered with sadness and anger, as if he wanted to be anywhere but near him; but Yuuri’s tight tug on his turtleneck shirt told Viktor otherwise, as if he wanted to keep him near. He rested his forehead on Yuuri’s and murmured, “I’m here, Yuuri… stay with me…”

 

“…can I…?” Yuuri asked in disbelief as a tear fell.

 

Viktor only had love for his husband when he gazed into his eyes, and reminded him softly, “You promised me you’ll stay…”

 

“…only as long as you want me,” Yuuri replied with glassy eyes and did not hesitate when he continued, “And you are… _the_ Viktor Nikiforov. You can have anyone in the world. It doesn’t have to be me.”

 

“But it’s you I want,” Viktor told him, “Only you, Yuuri.”

 

“… But I cannot always be myself,” Yuuri whispered, and reached up to hold Viktor’s face in his cold, trembling hands. He thought he could keep a secret for as long as he lived, but Yuuri broke down because he could not lie to Viktor again. His voice shuddered when he asked, “Will you still say the same if I tell you that I will forget you, over and over and over again?”

 

“Yuuri…?” Viktor was perplexed, but he understood Yuuri enough to know he was not being hypothetical.

 

“…I forgot you!” Yuuri confessed and gripped onto Viktor’s collar in anguish, “The doctors said I can still lose my memories even as I make them… but I didn’t want to believe them because I was so sure I could rely on my own memories. I thought I couldn’t possibly forget the first face I saw… But I did! My first memory of you is so blurred now that I can barely remember the shape of your face, or the colour of your eyes! …or if it really was you!”

 

“We did meet, and you remembered,” Viktor convinced him with an affirmative nod, “See? You haven’t lost your memory. You are only having a hard time with it because you just woke up from a terrible head injury.”

 

But anxiety clouded Yuuri’s judgment even though he desperately wanted to believe in Viktor. The tight grip on Viktor’s collar never loosened as the timid amnesiac bitterly admitted with a faint smile, “You’re too kind… You stayed to make new memories with me, and you gave me hope of a brighter future. But the more happiness I received from you, the more terrified I am of losing them. I don’t know when I’ll wake up without my memories again, and whenever I think about it, my heart just… stops. What if I become such a burden to you that you’ll throw me away? …What if someone better takes you away?”

 

 “Yuuri,” Viktor called softly for him, “I’m here.”

 

“Why do I have to forget? Why can’t I keep my memories? Why am I not Yuuri?” he sobbed and tore at his own hair. Viktor tugged those arms away from hurting his beloved, and his heart broke at the words that spilled forth from Yuuri in hatred, “I hate _him_. I _hate_ that I can’t be him. …I hate… _myself_ …”

 

 _“I’ve been loving him the wrong way,”_ Viktor felt his heart crushed into pieces at how broken his lover had become under his care. With tears running down his cheek, he apologized, “Yuuri, I’m so sorry I’ve failed you.”

 

His frail lover stayed still, as if he was anticipating the end for the both of them; again.

 

Viktor gently caressed Yuuri’s face, flushed red from crying. He told him, “I was so selfish in thinking we could go back to the way we were before when you accepted our engagement and wedding rings. I thought all I needed to do was to make up for the wrongs I’ve done to you since France and I focused my attention on fulfilling every request you asked of me.” He admitted regretfully, “But I was blind. I should have realized how every word I said – every _kiss_ – was feeding your fears.”

 

“I never proved myself loyal to you,” Viktor continued, “Everything I did was to keep you by my side. I took you away from home, and forced you to only rely on me. I’ve become so possessive of you that I even want to monopolize your attention. When I saw how hard you tried to fit in and how sweetly you smiled at everyone today, jealousy turned me into a monster and I… _hurt_ you, again.”

 

“I am the worst lover, and husband, to you,” Viktor confessed as he gingerly rubbed the tears from Yuuri’s eyes, “I knew you deserved someone better but I couldn’t stand the thought of you being happy without me. I want to be the one for you, to make you smile and to keep you safe… especially from yourself.”

 

Viktor circled his arms around his irreplaceable husband and lowered himself to rest on Yuuri’s thin body. He almost felt the ribcage by his ear when Yuuri drew trembling breaths amidst his soft cries, and he could hear Yuuri’s rapid heartbeat; Viktor thought he had the world in his arms, however imperfect it was. His voice was nervous when he spoke next, “I can’t let you go, Yuuri. The second we’re apart, my mind always turn back to you, wondering if you’re still alive. And I grow restless until I at least hear your voice, so I know I can come home to you again. …I’ve become so scared of losing you again that I never gave you the space you needed to recover…”

 

 _“I am too afraid to accept love,”_ Yuuri thought.

 

“Yuuri, please forgive me,” Viktor apologized as he tightened his grasp around his husband in his helplessness, “…what should I do for you…?”

 

 _“I am so selfish to think that I am the only one who is hurting…”_ Yuuri sobbed and said, “…I’m …sor…ry.”

 

Those words brought back the fresh memories of Yuuri dying in his arms, and Viktor became uncomfortable. He shifted his body to hover above Yuuri again, so he could look into his brown eyes and beg him to live; but words got caught in his throat when their eyes met. They no longer bear anger and hatred, but remorse.

 

“I didn’t know…” Yuuri wept, “…I am hurting… the both of us…”

 

He timidly reached out to touch Viktor’s face again and Viktor leaned into his warm palm. Yuuri gathered his courage and explained, “You offered me a home. But I’m so plain… and unattractive… compared to everyone else in this world. I don’t know how else I can hold onto you besides relying on you, so you’d only have time for me. But every time you smiled at me, _kissed_ me, I feel as if I’m lying to you.”

 

“You’re not,” Viktor told him, “It’s okay to want me for yourself. I _want_ you to. Because I, too, want all of you.” He kissed Yuuri’s palm, and said, “Yuuri, tell me how I can prove my love to you…”

 

Yuuri pushed past his hesitance, and answered, “I want you to only look at me.”

 

“I do,” Viktor replied with a soft smile.

 

“I want you to only kiss me,” Yuuri said, and Viktor kissed him without another word. Tears welled up in his eyes and Yuuri sobbed softly again, “I want you to only love me… love _me_ … until I love myself again.”

 

Viktor kissed his tears away, and gently called out to him, “Yuuri, I promise to love you when you are at your happiest, and I will love you more when you absolutely hate yourself. My heart is yours, and I will always be here to love you – each and every broken piece of you – with everything that I am… _forever_.”

 

Hearing those words, Yuuri’s lips sought out for Viktor’s. His kiss was desperate, almost as if he wanted the moment to last; and Viktor responded to it with his own love for his darling husband. When they parted, Yuuri’s thumb brushed along Viktor’s thin lips and he smiled bitterly, “…I want to remember those words.”

 

“Then I will say them to you, every day,” he told him, “Even if you’ve forgotten me again, I will still be here, by your side, to recite my vow to you.”

 

Yuuri nodded, “It’s a promise.”

 

Viktor held him tight again, and echoed with a nod, “It’s a promise.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	10. Dearly Beloved

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! There is an additional chapter because of this chapter! My beta grinned at this chapter.

 

“Yuuri?” he heard a voice in the dark, and felt a gentle kiss on his eye. Viktor whispered, “Good morning.”

 

Yuuri hummed groggily in reply as he shifted to his side before trying to open his eyes; his eyelids felt heavier than usual. He covered his face and recalled, _“Ah… I cried so much last night, my eyes must be swollen now. I look hideous…”_

 

“Yuuri, I love you,” Viktor said to him, and Yuuri could feel his heart skipped a beat. His fingers parted and he peeked at his prince charming, who had a devilishly handsome smile. Viktor urged, “Come on. Get up. Let’s fill that empty belly of yours with good food.”

 

But it was a trick, almost.

 

As soon as Yuuri sat up from the bed, his eyes stared at the huge red circle by his thigh. With his mind still fuzzy and eyes blurred without his glasses, Yuuri leaned lower and squinted. His fingers cautiously reached into the redness and felt cool moisture from the tiny droplets of water that glistened in the sunlight. Confusion was written all over his face at this mysterious portal of red surrounded by white clouds. It took him quite a while to finally realize that he was fiddling with a large bouquet of red roses.

 

Viktor, who was sitting by him on the bed, tried to hold back his laughter as he watched Yuuri curiously examined the ninety-nine stalks of roses he had ordered. When his lover turned back to him with his brown eyes all lit up and a smile on his face, Viktor felt both his breath and his heart stolen by his husband again. He leaned forward and kissed the smile, and asked, “I take it that… you like it?”

 

His husband gathered the roses into his arms with a nod, and said softly, “…thank you.”

 

And Viktor heard it; the unspoken _“I love you”_. He smiled to himself, and got up from the bed. He asked, “What do you think of katsudon for lunch?”

 

Yuuri turned to him at the mention of his favourite food, “I’d love that, please.”

 

“Shall we?” Viktor extended his hand to Yuuri with a wink.

 

Reluctantly leaving the bouquet on the bed again, Yuuri let himself be led by the hand out of the bedroom. He could smell rice cooking in the kitchen as he glanced to the side; raw ingredients laid out by the stove, where a small pot of oil sat quietly. He thought, _“Those weren’t bought yesterday…”_

 

He looked up at the analog clock ticking above their door, and murmured, “It’s noon already… Did I sleep in that long?”

 

His mind roughly calculated the hours Viktor must have needed to go outside for the groceries and also factored in the time he would take to prepare for making katsudon, and not forgetting to add the time for a second trip to get the roses. He tugged onto Viktor’s sleeve, and stuttered, “You should have woken me up. I could have gone shopping with you… help carry the groceries.”

 

“How could I wake you up when you had just fallen asleep?” Viktor replied with the intention to tease, but it brought back memories of the night before. With their hearts laid bare for one another, their argument seemed bittersweet when he was finally able to embrace Yuuri in his arms as he cried to sleep. Viktor leaned down to place a kiss on the side of Yuuri’s lips. He sighed, “As romantic as I would have liked to be… I never left the apartment. I actually ordered everything online this morning and had them delivered.”

 

 _“He stayed by my side all this while,”_ Yuuri smiled at the realization. He tip toed to place a kiss on his cheek, and told his husband, “You are more than romantic for me.”

 

The Russian husband smiled in return, and pondered, “…I should have ninety-nine roses delivered every day.”

 

“What!? No!” Yuuri blurted.

 

“No?” Viktor’s brow raised, “I thought it’s romantic?”

 

“I-I-I mean,” Yuuri stuttered as he blushed, “It is! It’s just… not every day…”

 

“Then what do you want every day… as proof of my love?” Viktor snickered as he teased his beloved. Excited at the rare chance to shower Yuuri with gifts, he waited for the answer. In his mind, Viktor was sure there was nothing he could not buy for him, and if Yuuri so wished, he could even buy a house in cash at the most prestigious residential neighbourhood in Saint Petersburg within the next minute.

 

Soft honey brown eyes glimmered as Yuuri stared straight at him, “…you.”

 

Barely ten minutes of him waking up, and Viktor felt his breath stolen again by his lover. He pulled Yuuri into another chaste kiss, and another, and then another. Touching his forehead to Yuuri’s, Viktor whispered, “I’m here.”

 

Yuuri nodded with a soft hum, as if having him was everything he needed. Viktor’s mind swirled, _“But that’s a gift I can’t promise forever.”_

 

“Viktor?” Yuuri noticed the silence, and the troubled look on Viktor’s face.

 

He quickly flashed a playful grin, “…or maybe katsudon every day?”

 

Yuuri frowned, “I’d be obese within two months.”

 

The two lovers burst into laughter as they held one another in their arms. With one last peck on the lips, Viktor turned his husband around and gave his bottom a light slap to urge him towards the bathroom. Yuuri got the message and he scurried away. He returned from his quick shower – in a fresh pair of blue sweatpants and white long-sleeved t-shirt, and eyes bright behind his glasses – just as Viktor placed a large bowl of katsudon in front of him at their small dining table. Yuuri almost drooled at the sight of the crispy pork cutlet surrounded by egg in sauce.

 

Yuuri looked to the side and noticed the same contents in Viktor’s bowl was only about half his portion. He asked, “You’re only having so little?”

 

The chef merely nodded as he concentrated on adding the correct amount of soya sauce into a sizzling pan of vegetables. A minute later, a large plate of bean sprout, sliced cabbage and carrots was placed between their bowls.

 

“I have to watch my diet now,” Viktor admitted with a sigh as he removed his apron to sit beside Yuuri, “Yakov warned me yesterday for gaining weight.”

 

“He noticed?” Yuuri exclaimed with a gasp.

 

“Through the coat!” Viktor added with a nod, “Yakov’s eyes are always that sharp!”

 

Seeing that Yuuri had waited for him before he started on his brunch, Viktor picked up his chopsticks and reached over for a piece of pork from Yuuri’s bowl. He hovered it near Yuuri’s lips and teased, “Say ah~”

 

Yuuri obediently took the pork into his mouth and hummed contentedly as he chewed; as if it was the most delicious meal he had ever tasted. A smile lit up Viktor’s features at his husband’s reaction to his cooking.  The conversation during their meal was light, and it seemed as though the massive argument they had last night was a faraway memory.

 

Yuuri picked up some vegetables off the plate and casually mentioned, “From now on, I’ll have whatever you’ll have for meals.  It’ll make our menu easier to manage anyway.”

 

“Are you sure?” Viktor could see the logic behind Yuuri’s suggestion, but was reluctant to agree. Back then, they had both mutually agreed to share the same strict menu for the sake of their careers as national athletes, but now that Yuuri had retired, he would rather have his husband enjoy life and savour good food than accompany him on a bland healthy diet. 

 

“Your career is far more important right now,” Yuuri nodded as he picked at the remaining vegetable on the plate. His voice softened into a murmur, “…and I, too, want to maintain a proper body image… or I’ll… be overweight… and ugly… and everybody is gonna stare…”

 

Hearing that, Viktor set down his chopsticks on the bowl and reached out to pinch both of Yuuri’s cheeks. He pouted, “You’re far too skinny to be worried about looking fat.”

 

Yuuri struggled to speak with his mouth stretched to the sides, “Aht reast Ihm offh toh eh goohd shtarth.”

 

“At least you’re off to a good start?” Viktor released him and pondered, “I suppose you’re right. Keep to a well-balanced diet and regular trainings can help build up some muscles to maintain your shape.”

 

“Then I’ll train with you,” Yuuri said as he gently massaged his cheeks with his knuckles, “Same routine, together.”

 

“Yakov’s training is a tough one,” Viktor shuddered at the thought of dragging Yuuri along for a hellish training routine when he could easily come up with a milder one. He thought for a moment and said with a wink, “Since I am more familiar with your body, I’ll come up with something for you by the end of the day. I was your coach after all.”

 

Yuuri looked away, “I’m sorry. I’m imposing on you again.”

 

“No,” he shook his head and smiled, “I’m actually happy you’re setting yourself a goal. And I’m willing to help.”

 

Hearing that, Yuuri returned the smile, “Then… Thank you.”

 

Viktor’s mind swiftly drafted a few workout routines as he watched his husband by the sink, washing the dishes. His eyes scanned down Yuuri’s neck, shoulders, arms, back, waist, hips and legs. He interrogated, “Ever done anything other than stretching lately?”

 

Yuuri froze before he answered, “Err… only during physiotherapy.”

 

“Runs?” he asked again.

 

“Rarely,” came the guilty answer, “Just walking …leisurely… even after my ankle has healed.”

 

Viktor turned silent with an index finger to his lips, trying to hide a smile as he concocted a plan. He patiently waited until Yuuri was done with the dishes before he walked towards his husband and pulled him into a slow dance. Yuuri became flustered by the sudden movement and accidentally stepped on Viktor’s toes a few times before he caught onto the rhythm of the soundless music in their home. Ever so slowly, Yuuri leaned backwards as Viktor led him into a dip, but it seemed endless and his arching back was beginning to feel a sore stretch.

 

“… I can’t…” Yuuri begged as his body shivered, struggling to balance himself.

 

Viktor purposely he dipped Yuuri lower again, and commented, “Oh my, Yuuri. You’re too stiff.”

 

“…Vi… Ah!” Yuuri lost his balance and landed onto the couch, realizing he was actually hovering mere inches away, “Eh?”

 

His Russian husband smirked, “Did you really think I’d let you fall and hurt yourself?”

 

“…oh!” Yuuri pouted and tried to sink into the couch in his embarrassment, but later asked shyly, “Is my body really that stiff?” Viktor nodded, so Yuuri asked his coach, “What do we do now?”

 

“Regular stretches,” Viktor answered as he folded one of Yuuri’s leg and gently pushed his knee towards his body. Yuuri thought it was not that bad even though he can feel a slight pull on the muscles around his thigh, but Viktor later straightened his leg and pushed in again. This time, Yuuri could immediately feel his leg crying as Viktor pressed down little by little.

 

“…ahh…!” Yuuri cried, and Viktor stopped; only to switch leg. Yuuri bit his lower lip as he braced himself for another wave of similar pain. As he felt Viktor’s hands pressed down on his leg, he squirmed, “…mhmmm…”  

 

“…Yuuri…” Viktor stabilized himself with a knee on the couch as he leaned lower, their lips almost touching, “…Let me hear more…”

 

“…it hurts…” Yuuri could only squirm and whine when Viktor applied slightly more pressure on his leg, and he felt a faint tingling sensation where Viktor’s hands slid higher along his thigh, drawing close to his manhood. Yuuri shut his eyes and mentally screamed at himself, _“Why am I feeling it …NOW!?”_

 

“Yuuri…” just hearing his name by his ear was enough to send shivers down his spine. Yuuri shifted his face away to avoid Viktor’s hypnotizing voice, but fell further into lustful abyss when his lover’s breath caressed the side his neck and then feeling the feather-soft kisses on his collarbone. His breath hitched when Viktor lightly bit on his neck before quickly kissing it again. Viktor’s tongue licked the faint bite and his warm lips alternately sucked and kissed the little bite mark.

 

With his breaths uneven as he sighed and moaned, Yuuri never noticed his leg was freed by Viktor and it had wound itself around Viktor’s calf, and his hands were hooked under his Russian husband’s arms to clutch at the shoulders as Viktor nipped at another spot on his shoulder. He gasped softly, “…Vi…!!”

 

Heeding that desirous voice, Viktor’s lips returned to capture his lover’s lips. He called out, almost sadly, “Yuuri… you’ve barely called my name… why?”

 

 _“…that’s not how you called me,”_ words spoken in grief the day before froze his mind. Yuuri never realized how those few words were powerful enough to seal a name from his lips but as he looked back at the one person he wished so much to be his, he realized that he also failed to notice the melancholy that was brewing in his lover’s eyes. He swallowed his hesitation and asked, “…how… did I call you…?”

 

Viktor cursed silently at himself, _“I must have said something to doom myself again.”_ He had forgotten the words he spewed in anger but Viktor understood himself well enough to know his current predicament to be his own doing. He gently kissed Yuuri’s forehead, and answered, “In front of the international public, ‘Viktor’.”

 

He brushed the tip of his nose against Yuuri’s before kissing it, and continued, “In front of friends and acquaintances, ‘Vitya’.”

 

Placing another kiss on his lover’s lips, Viktor said, “In front of family and close friends, or if it was just the two of us, ‘Vitka’.”

 

“…Vitka…” the name rolled off Yuuri’s tongue almost too easily, as if he knew them; as if he understood how deep their relationship had to be before he was allowed to call Viktor by that name.

 

“…say my name again,” blue eyes glimmered with tears as a smile appeared on his fair face.

 

Yuuri thought he might have pronounced it wrong. He awkwardly repeated, “…Vitka…?”

 

And his lips was met with a kiss. Viktor begged, “…again.”

 

“Vitka,” Yuuri called out with more confidence this time, and returned the kiss, “Vitka… I love you…”

 

“I want you, Yuuri,” Viktor hinted, his heart asked, _“Do you understand?”_

 

His lover beneath him nodded, and coyly asked with a smile, “…make love to me?”

 

Viktor snickered at the connection they still had, “The couch is too small for that.”

 

Yuuri’s smile widened and his body moved before he knew what Viktor was about to do; his legs wrapped around Viktor’s waist just as his husband hauled him up into his strong arms. Yuuri’s soft shriek turned into giggles when he saw Makkachin – lying on his grey cushion bed – covered his eyes with his floppy ears. But that view soon became obscured by their bedroom door, firmly shutting the poodle outside.

 

His attention shifted back to Viktor, who had already set him down on the bed, and was removing his blue-rimmed glasses. His hands reached low to slide up the sides of his waist, his thumbs brushing past perked nipples as he pulled the white t-shirt off. Yuuri shuddered when his skin felt the air; but the chill was only temporary. Viktor’s warm and bare chest met his when he pushed Yuuri onto the bed with a gentle and deep kiss; and it smelled of roses.

 

 _“Ah, the roses. They’re still on the bed,”_ Yuuri thought absentmindedly.

 

“Think only of me, Yuuri,” Viktor whispered huskily into their kiss and moved away to lightly bit at a sensitive spot below Yuuri’s earlobe.

 

He gasped. His mind instantly blanked at the sensation. With his eyes closed, all he could feel now was Viktor’s hot breath by his neck, and the wet, rough tongue on his skin; and the cool hands that caressed every inch of his body. Yuuri grasped the sheet and pillow tightly in his fists as he moaned and whined, feeling more and more intensely aroused the lower Viktor’s lips kissed. He endured the playful love bites near his nipples and the top of his abdomen, but he found himself whimpering in protest when Viktor tugged onto the band of his sweatpants.

 

Fear muddled in with desire, _“…my scars…”_

 

But Yuuri was not even spared one second to act on his fear because Viktor had pulled both his sweatpants and boxer off in one swift move and dove in between his legs again to give the lines on his thighs the love that they deserved. Feeling the faint bites on his thighs, Yuuri threw away his fear and freely accepted his husband’s love. As his hands reached low to brush his fingers through Viktor’s silver locks, Yuuri finally dared to open his eyes and gazed at his husband.

 

Lustful hungry eyes stared back at him.

 

Yuuri felt his semi-erect member throbbed at that sharp glance. He gulped; not knowing what to do or say. His breath got caught in his throat as he watched Viktor kissed the tip of his erection. Yuuri pulled both his hands back to muffle his gasp the moment Viktor’s mouth took in his manhood. The warmth surrounding him then was an entirely new experience, and he was conscious of every erratic flick of the tongue around his hardening erection. His moans got louder the faster Viktor’s soft supple lips slid up and down his shaft, and his gasps got sharper every time Viktor sucked at the tip.

 

“Viktor…! …please!” Yuuri begged between his breaths, “I…! Can’t! …I’ll come!”

 

But his words went unheeded. If anything, Viktor actually went faster, and harder, at making Yuuri come.

 

“Viktor! Please…! …Stop!” Yuuri pleaded even as white stars appeared in his vision and his consciousness threatened to fly away. He tried to hold himself together but as the seconds passed, he felt control slipping away from him, and he came into his lover’s mouth with a scream, “Vitkaaaaa!!!”

 

Yuuri was still panting for breaths when he heard Viktor continued to suck on him and licked every drop. He propped himself up by the elbows and reached out for Viktor, “I’m sorry I…”

 

His Russian lover finally released his member from his mouth, and Yuuri could see his own white cum dribbled by the side of Viktor’s mouth. Yuuri quickly turned over to reach for the box of tissue, but was quickly toppled back onto the bed again by another kiss. This time, the kiss was unusually viscous, and tasted bitter with a mix of saltiness. As deeply embarrassed as he was, Yuuri felt his member throbbed back to life again at the amorous kiss.

 

“…come again for me,” Viktor murmured into the kiss.

 

“…but I just came…” Yuuri whined despite his junior’s obvious excitement.

 

Viktor smirked at that reaction and moved away to reached into his bedside drawer. He pulled out a tube of lubricant and a square silver pack, which slipped out of his finger and fell near Yuuri. He picked it up and seemed to squint hard at it without his glasses.

 

“It’s for me, if that’s what you’re wondering,” Viktor said as he took the condom from Yuuri. His Japanese lover shook his head.

 

“I was thinking… maybe… use this… next time?” Yuuri muttered as he blushed, “…I …want to feel you.”

 

Almost instantly, Viktor flung the flimsy pack of condom aside at Yuuri’s words. His already hard erection had been suffocating in his pants for a while now, and his insanely adorable lover’s words just made him grew even harder. He ran a hand through his silver hair in his attempt at self-control, “You… always know how to tempt me.”

 

If he loved Yuuri any lesser, Viktor would have easily lost his self-control; but he treasured his husband more than he was willing to see him bleed from his wild urges. Viktor stood up to toss his pants and underwear away, and when he crawled back onto to the bed towards his erotic lover, he could see the nervousness in Yuuri’s eyes.

 

The difference in size was more than obvious at a glance, and for Yuuri, the thought of having such a huge part of Viktor inside him was frightening; but it also excited him beyond imagination to know that he was able to arouse Viktor to the point of almost losing control. Yuuri timidly welcomed his Russian husband’s return to the bed with kisses and circled his arms around Viktor, just as he felt a large hand held their members; pumping their erection together. He blushed hard feeling Viktor’s tip rubbing against his abdomen every time their shafts slid against one another.

 

In the midst of relishing in the passion, Yuuri did not realize he had obediently spread his legs apart upon his lover’s wordless bidding. His attention only returned when he felt something cold pushed against his entrance. He winced when Viktor’s finger entered him and he clutched at his husband; nails leaving red lines on the smooth pale back, marking Viktor as his.

 

“Does it hurt?” Viktor’s voice was filled with worry, _“I’ve already used more lube than usual…”_

 

 _“It hurts a little… but…”_ Yuuri shook his head, “…doesn’t hurt.”

 

But Viktor understood. He gently and slowly slid his finger in and out of Yuuri, easing him for what was to come. When Yuuri’s breathing evened and began to moan, Viktor thrust another finger into him and picked up the pace. His own erection throbbed as he watched and listened to his frail husband squirmed in the ecstasy of pleasure and pain whenever his fingers scissored and twisted within him, brushing against that special sensitive spot inside.

 

“…Vitkaaaa…” Yuuri panted and shuddered, “…I’m… again…”

 

Viktor stopped, “…not yet.”

 

He became a tease; and sniggered when Yuuri mewled from the absence of pleasure inside him as soon as he pulled out his fingers. Yuuri looked up at Viktor with teary eyes and called out, “Vitkaaaa… pleeeease… don’t leave me like this…”

 

Considering how much he had loosened his husband, Viktor was almost sure Yuuri was ready for him as he knelt between those slim legs and guided his thick member towards Yuuri’s opening. He pushed the tip in; and the familiar warm tightness almost made him come at once. He groaned.

 

“Nghhh…aah!” Yuuri cried as he automatically clamped down on the foreign body in him.

 

“…hurt?” Viktor could barely speak with his entire being all focused on restraining his erection from coming prematurely. This time, Yuuri nodded honestly. Viktor kissed him, wishing the pain away, “…I’m sorry. I’ll stop.”

 

Yuuri shook his head, and pulled onto Viktor’s arm to keep him from moving away. He said breathlessly, “…con…tinue… I want… all of you…”

 

“…Yuuri!” Viktor leaned in for a kiss at that response and his tip slipped in deeper. His lover gasped at the sudden thrust and bit his lower lip to stifle the cries. Viktor hungered for more but he fought against the burning desire to bury himself inside Yuuri in a single hard thrust. He reminded himself that his carnal pleasure was no reason for his husband to suffer, and so Viktor made the deliberate choice to go slow. He intertwined their fingers and gave Yuuri’s hand a hard squeeze for his attention; their eyes met.

 

“Vitka…” Yuuri looked up at him with teary eyes, and lightly nodded. Viktor tried to kiss the tears away as he pushed himself in deeper. He paused when Yuuri started to wince again, and waited until Yuuri gave him a sign to go on. Reading his husband’s facial cue, Viktor moved and kept pausing repeatedly until he was finally seated to the hilt inside Yuuri.

 

“…Yuuri… can you feel… all of me?” he sighed, feeling the pleasurable warmth enveloping him.

 

Yuuri’s head could not form words with all the sensations and feelings blending inside him. Viktor’s thick and long manhood filled him, and it hurt terribly but there were also sparks of euphoria running through his mind. It was almost too much for him. Yuuri tried to speak, but all that came out of his lips was a shuddering sigh.

 

“Yuuri? …are you alright?” Viktor became concerned.

 

“…you… mine…” Yuuri gasped, and Viktor’s mind blanked at his darling’s words. He was being mindful of Yuuri’s feeble body but his lover seemed to love tempting him to lose control. Viktor bit hard on his lips to hold himself off from giving into lust there and then; he reminded himself to go slow. He lightly bumped his hips forward, and froze at the sound that escaped Yuuri’s lips.

 

“Nyaaaaahhh!”

 

That obscenely lewd soft sigh came from those plump lips, on a face turned scarlet from erotic desire, and brown eyes brimmed with unshed tears of discomfort; and Viktor craved for more. He pulled back and jerked forward again, eliciting another sharp gasp from Yuuri. Viktor groaned when his husband clenched down on his hard member, and he could feel himself throbbed again, imprisoned inside Yuuri’s warm cavern. Even with the amount of lube between them, Viktor still found it difficult to move smoothly.

 

“Yuuri,” Viktor breathed and kissed the side of his lover’s neck, “…breathe… relax… give in to me…”

 

He was sure Yuuri heard him but it still took his viciously amorous lover several deep breaths before the tension around him began to ease. Viktor’s excitement heightened as he playfully nudged Yuuri again. His smirk widened at the surprised gasp but the subsequent tightening around his member made him moaned in pleasure, “…Yuuri…!”

 

Yuuri learned to relax his body. He felt Viktor pulling away of him at an agonizingly slow pace, stimulating his prostate in its path before sliding back in to stroke that spot again, sending a shot of lecherous thrill up his mind. Yuuri tried to form words but with every slow and gentle thrust, he began to lose his speech, “…viiiiiiIIIII… YAAAAaaaaahhhh…!!!! ..dddaaaaaahhhhh…!!!”

 

“…which is it, Yuuri? Calling my name?” Viktor chuckled, scheming to bully his lewd husband. He teased with another thrust and pulled his stiff member out of the comfort that was Yuuri’s body, “Are you saying ‘ _no_ ’ in Japanese? Or ‘ _yes_ ’ in Russian?” *

 

Yuuri hastily nodded his head, but shook it a second later. His mind refused to work. He was confused and in tears. And his body was missing something warm. Through his blurry brown eyes, he looked down between their bodies and saw Viktor’s manhood. He _needed_ him inside again.

 

“Tell me what you want, Yuuri…” Viktor leered huskily by his ear, knowing his deep voice was one of Yuuri’s weaknesses.

 

“…you!” Yuuri gulped and boldly reached out to grab Viktor by the face and smashed their lips together. He lifted his hips to position his sore entrance against the tip of his Russian husband’s hard member; almost pushing himself onto Viktor, begging to be entered again. Yuuri failed to realize he had pushed Viktor beyond his limits with his untamed lust.

 

Without warning, Viktor thrust deep into Yuuri, lifting his hips off the bed and earned a scream. Viktor grunted and continued to enjoy sending his husband wave after wave of bliss, brushing against that spot within to draw out more lewd gasps and screams. He panted, “…give me more, Yuuri…”

 

Yuuri’s words slurred in euphoria as pain morphed into lustful pleasure, “…mooooorrrrhhh…”

 

As soon as he begged for more, Yuuri could feel two strong arms hauled his knees to rest higher on Viktor’s thighs, forcing his scarred legs to spread wider. Yuuri licked his lips in anticipation as he watched Viktor angled himself and plunged into him, going deeper than before. His scream turned silent at the depth Viktor reached. His mind and body surrendered to the pleasures of the flesh, indulging himself with the kisses that accompanied every thrust.

 

“Harder?” Viktor groaned.

 

“Haaaa…deeeerrrrr!” Yuuri echoed with trembling voice, and tears.

 

“Faster?” he asked again, almost losing his breath.

 

“Fassssstterrrrrrr!” Yuuri cried.

 

Viktor gave into those pleas. He had been holding himself back far longer than he thought he could manage and his body began to thrust faster, harder, and deeper to satisfy his erotic husband. The quickening sound of his manhood pounding into Yuuri reverberated in their small room, and his own gasps for breath mixed with the moans and screams from the lover beneath him. But just as he reached the verge of his climax, his mind suddenly cleared and he quickly moved to pull out of Yuuri; only to realize his husband had wrapped his thin legs tightly around his waist, keeping him a prisoner of his lust.

 

“Yuuri, don’t!” Viktor grunted for freedom, but it was too late. He came inside Yuuri, flooding his insides with liquid white seed just as Yuuri screamed for him at his own release. Viktor slumped onto his lover, and complained breathlessly, “I said… ‘don’t’.”

 

Yuuri was also gasping for breaths but he managed to reply, “I said… ‘I want all of you’.”

 

“…we did it without a condom,” Viktor said as he pushed himself up to look at Yuuri, “Your tummy is going to feel horrible later.”

 

Yuuri shook his head, deciding that his tummy was a problem he could face later; but for now, he almost wanted to admit that he liked the sensation of being filled. It was almost as if… he could really have gotten pregnant with Viktor’s child. With nowhere to hide his blush, Yuuri pulled Viktor down to his chest and wrapped his arms around him.

 

The larger man relaxed onto his husband’s smaller frame, enjoying the innocent gentle pats on his silver head while his naughty member enjoyed the warmth inside Yuuri.

 

“…I love you,” Yuuri whispered into his ear in the midst of the silence, and gasped, “…Vitka? Did you just… get hard inside me?”

 

Viktor became unexpectedly embarrassed to answer, but he pushed himself up and huffed as he declared, “Round two. This time, you move.”

 

Without breaking the connection they were having down there, Yuuri felt Viktor picked him up as he sat back on the bed, and gravity made him sank down onto his husband’s hardened shaft. He moaned softly while he leaned onto Viktor’s muscular chest for support. His body was melting in pleasure yet again but he still found the energy in him to grind on Viktor’s manhood. There was no sign of the usually timid and shy Yuuri when he lifted himself up and plunged down onto Viktor, who bucked his hips to reach in deep. Just like that, Yuuri’s every move since was met with a forceful thrust, rapidly sending the two of them into another lecherous bliss.

 

“Yuuri!” Viktor moaned his name as he felt himself dizzy from an oncoming climax. His lover held tightly onto him, almost pulling at his hair; and that roughness pushed him over the edge again. Viktor felt himself burst into his lover again, “…Yuuri!!”

 

Yuuri kissed the name on Viktor’s lips, and smiled. It did not matter that semen was oozing out of his bottom, or that his chest was sticky from spurts of his own releases. All Yuuri cared about at that moment was the glazed look of pure pleasure on his husband’s flushed face; one that he put on Viktor. His fingers trembled holding onto the perfection in his hands.

 

Tears fell from Yuuri’s eyes, and Viktor was there to rub them away. He asked, “…why are you crying?”

 

“…I love you,” Yuuri replied with quivering voice, “…I love you!”

 

“…I’m here, Yuuri,” Viktor told him with an equally sad smile knowing Yuuri was still afraid of losing him, “Let’s grow old together.” 

 

Yuuri felt his tears well up again at those words, and he gazed upon his husband’s smooth face. His fingers traced invisible lines of wrinkle that would appear by his eyes and forehead with age, and he could almost see Viktor as a bald and wrinkly old man wobbling on shaky legs. A smile broke on his face then, because he thought Viktor would still be perfect in his eyes no matter how he aged.

 

“I’d still make love to you even with an old shrunken dick,” Viktor said with a straight face, and Yuuri burst out in laughter. But the two of them had to let out a soft moan when the vibration of his laughter reached down to their joined crotches. A blush crept onto Yuuri’s when he glimpsed at the mess between their bodies.

 

“We need a shower,” Viktor suggested and lightly kissed Yuuri’s lips before turning around – with Yuuri firmly in his arms – to stand from the bed.

 

In his panic, Yuuri tightened his legs around his husband’s waist and wrapped his arms around those wide shoulders. He heard the door opened, and Yuuri had to bury his head onto Viktor’s shoulder to hide his embarrassment, “Makkachin will see…”

 

Viktor chuckled and told him, “He’s facing the wall.”

 

Yuuri only looked up when he felt Viktor slowly pulled out of him and set him down on the toilet. His face instantly heat up again and he sat frozen with his back straight as liquid dribbled out of him, plopping into the water. He hid his face with his hands, unable to face Viktor as the mess that he was. But Viktor simply tugged him under the shower without any hesitation and his hands gingerly roamed all over Yuuri’s bruised body, cleaning his thoroughly loved husband as best as he could.

 

Their short bath was time enough for Yuuri to overcome his shyness again, and he tried to act as normal as Viktor was. He put on a set of clothes Viktor had picked out for him from their closet and helped hold onto a set of white bed sheet. He trailed behind Viktor, who carried a spare duvet back to their room, and stopped at the door.

 

They both gulped at the mess, and exchanged a silent look. Red rose petals littered across their bed that was now a whirlwind of tossed and wrinkled sheet and duvet spilling down the floor. The two lovers set to reorganize their room again, only speaking a few words here and there in their coordination, but this time, the near-silence between them was warm. With the last stray petal picked away and the bed neatly straightened, Yuuri turned back to Viktor, who stood by his side of their bed, staring at the bouquet of red roses that he placed back on the bed after it had fallen off sometime during their romp earlier.

 

“Um… What now?” Yuuri asked as he came to Viktor’s side.

 

His lover looked as if he was shaken out of his thoughts. Viktor quickly put on a smile and wrapped his arms loosely around Yuuri’s thin waist, and kissed his lips before pulling him to fall onto the crisp bed. Resting his own head against the pillows and headboard, he sighed and hugged Yuuri as if he was a body pillow. He said, “Now… we cuddle.”

 

Sensing Viktor’s need for silent reflection, Yuuri relaxed his body; his head resting on his husband’s broad chest and his body lying on Viktor’s, and their legs parallel between each other’s. He found himself enjoying the warm proximity now, with their breaths synchronized with every slow inhale and exhale, and Yuuri toyed with the curiosity that maybe… just maybe, their hearts were beating at the same relaxed pace. Closing his eyes, he listened for Viktor’s heartbeat, and it was thumping fast.

 

Viktor finally shifted a little, and his first words were an apology, “I’m sorry, Yuuri. I’ve hurt you again.” Yuuri looked up, confused as Viktor hugged him tighter. He continued, “There was blood on the sheet… and you looked to be in so much pain.”  

 

It took a while for Yuuri to understand that Viktor was referring to their earlier love making. It did feel like he was being torn apart during the initial entry, and he could still feel his anus throbbing in soreness, but Yuuri bluntly replied, “…But I felt good.”

 

A chuckle left Viktor’s lips at his honesty; of course Yuuri would feel good. Viktor had memorized every inch of his lover’s body all too well to know how to please him in bed. Even Yuuri would know where to thrust into him on the days he decided to top. After all, they had done much exploring of each other’s body over the last two years spent living together. His blue eyes roamed down Yuuri’s bruised neck and glossed over the oversized white t-shirt and stopped just after the dark blue shorts. His hands reached down to caress the deep scars on Yuuri’s thighs as his heart tugged painfully.

 

Yuuri explained to him, “The cuts will take another week to heal, and the stitches should fade after a while. …but your kisses don’t hurt.” He stopped with a nervous laugh.

 

Viktor had overlooked the love bites he left on those thighs in his despair. A faint smile appeared on his face as he pressed a kiss to his husband’s temple and said, “Yuuri, your burden is also mine to carry. So share it freely with me. I may not be able to make the troubles go away, but I’ll do everything else so you would never have to hurt yourself again.”

 

Yuuri nodded silently on his chest. And they fell into another comfortable silence again, until a thought crossed his mind. His voice was soft and hesitant when he asked, “…why did you do it?”

 

“Hmm?” Viktor hummed his question, his eyelids heavy for a nap.

 

“When I…” Yuuri gulped in shame as he recalled that episode in his life, “…the pills… after you found me… why did you make me throw up? …how did you know?”

 

Viktor was silent, and his breath seemed to have stopped. Yuuri quickly pushed himself up to face him, to apologize, but the words became stuck in his throat when he saw Viktor’s eyes brimmed red, glistening with tears. He scolded himself, _“I shouldn’t have asked!”_

 

“…because I’ve been there,” Viktor answered slowly and circled his arms around a confused Yuuri. His face was downcast when he rephrased, “I had tried to take my own life.”

 

Desperately looking for any signs of deceit on his lover’s face, Yuuri only found pain in his blue eyes. He swiftly clasped his hands over Viktor’s mouth; he could not let his lover recall something so devastating again. Yuuri sniffled and apologized, “I’m sorry I asked. You don’t have to tell me again. I’ll… I’ll remember it, someday.”

 

Viktor gently pried Yuuri’s trembling hands away. He admitted, “I never told you. No one knew. Yakov kept it out of the news.”

 

Yuuri dared to ask, “…why? …what happened?”

 

“I lost myself,” Viktor admitted after a pause. He recounted, “I was sixteen when I won the Junior World Figure Skating Championship. I had the freedom of expression then, but as soon as I moved up to the senior section, I lost it. The Russian Skating Federation, and my ex-coach, they wanted much more from me and held high expectations. They wanted me to be more masculine, to have power and speed in my steps in place of soft elegance. They even changed my look.”

 

“…your hair…” Yuuri realized as he squeezed his husband’s hands in support, and Viktor nodded grimly.

 

“Everything that defined me, they wanted it gone. They took away my identity as a figure skater,” Viktor gritted his teeth, “But despite the transformation and loneliness, I never skipped training. My love for the sport never waned but I began to lose focus during trainings and almost always injured myself. Then I started falling behind my peers and struggled to compete. I’d either screw myself at the preliminaries, or be forced to drop out entirely in the last minute. The Federation even fired my ex-coach and hired Yakov, but there was no improvement. I could never train or compete at my best, and my temper always got in the way of Yakov’s guidance.”

 

Viktor’s voice became cold, “After another fall on the ice during a major competition, I finally realized that the sport I love had become my torture. I calmly approached Yakov about quitting but he told me the Federation would never allow it. I had no choice but to stay on the ice, even if I dreaded it. Then I… found a way out. I took the pills, but Yakov came home at that moment and saw me swallowing them. He forced me to throw up the pills and rushed me to the hospital.”

 

He sighed with a faint smile, “There, we had a long chat by the bed, and came to an ambitious agreement. He would train me to be a world-champion and best figure skater in history, so much so that the Federation can no longer have a say in my style. That meant longer hours in training, and harsher expectations but I pressed on, setting my eyes on every gold medal at competitions I participated in but even after two years, I continued to hold silver in my hands. The gold medal at the Worlds in Tokyo in 2007 was almost within reach, but I was not good enough. I thought I can never be good enough.”

 

“It was at that moment that I contemplated about ending my life again,” his voiced held shame as he recalled, “And I stood alone at the balcony of my hotel room, just staring down at the grey pavement for hours.”

 

Yuuri grasped the front of his lover’s shirt in anguish and his heart ached painfully to learn no one was by Viktor’s side during his loneliest moment.

 

“Then, I heard someone called my name …It was you,” Viktor paused to caress his lover’s face with a soft smile, “I forgot I left the television on and it was re-running an interview with Japan’s Junior Champion. There wasn’t a word of Japanese I could understand in the entire interview but every time you said my name, your eyes sparkled and your smile widened. And when you finally spoke in English, you thanked me for being the inspiration to skate your best, and you dearly wished to compete with me someday. All of a sudden, I found it hard to disappoint you when you were glowing with enthusiasm as you spoke of the future.”

 

“And you said I was beautiful,” Viktor gently brushed his lover’s black strands aside to gaze into his brown eyes, “…when I felt nothing but disappointment at myself, you said I was beautiful. In that brief moment, I realized I forgot what I was striving for. I had focused so much of myself into winning the gold medal that I lost sight of the desire to regain my freedom on the ice. And the way you smiled holding the gold medal in your tiny hands, reminded me of the very thing I wished for.”

 

He continued with a smile, “Since that day, I threw myself into mastering new quadruple jumps, and focused on enhancing my performance to impress. It was just a small shift of purpose in the mind, but it made all the difference. No matter how repetitive everyday got, whenever I look back at my training journals, I was certain I’ve made progress towards my ultimate goal.”

 

“As the years went by, my medals kept piling up and things became so hectic for me that I didn’t even have time to feel sorry for myself,” Viktor told him, “My days were planned sometimes months ahead, with trainings and competitions, interviews, and even modelling photo shoots and commercials.”

 

“But despite it all, I still kept my ears out for news of your development,” Viktor pouted and pinched Yuuri’s nose, “And I waited to compete with you… for eight years… before your name appear on the same bracket as mine in Sochi. By then I was already holding the title of World Champion for five consecutive years, and I knew I wouldn’t disappoint you on the ice.”

 

He slowed, and seemed uncertain when he spoke next, “But you could barely look my way when I tried to speak to you after my victory, and I got worried. It would have been a disaster if you quit skating because of me. So I wanted to do something for you but you seemed so unapproachable at the banquet that I had to keep my distance. Then you had too much champagne…”

 

Viktor tried to suppress his smirk and asked, “Remember what I told you about the dance off?”

 

Recalling the hours he spent with Viktor working on his memory album in his room in Hasetsu just days ago, Yuuri reluctantly answered, “…that I stripped and pole-danced…”

 

He chuckled at the memory of a wild Yuuri, “What I didn’t tell you was… when you finally challenged me, your eyes sparkled the same way as it did back then. And when you asked me to be your coach …how could I say ‘no’ to you?”

 

Viktor was quiet for a moment, remembering Phichit’s words. With a softer voice, he wondered, “…how could I _not_ realize I’ve fallen in love with you at that moment?”

 

He became silent again; something was not right.

 

His arms tightened around Yuuri possessively, as if he was afraid his lover would vanish into thin air at any second. Viktor’s mind raced, _“No… how could I have forgotten Tokyo? I would have jumped to my death if it wasn’t for Yuuri’s voice! …But my memories of that episode was… gone!?”_

 

Yuuri tensed at the pressure around him, and grew uncomfortable at the silence between them, “Vitka? What’s wrong?”

 

Lips trembled as they tried to form a smile upon a realization. Viktor whispered, “Yuuri, I think… I’ve loved you far longer than I thought.” 

 

Yuuri was confused, “Hm?”

 

Viktor’s smile softened into a genuine one, “I’ve probably loved you since the second you saved my life.”

 

“ _Oh_ ,” Yuuri mouthed the word soundlessly, and blurted, “Just like how I was smitten by you after watching you win the Junior Championship on the television?”

 

“Eh?” both of them froze, and stared at one another in shock.

 

“Er…errr…” Yuuri stuttered, “I don’t know where that… came from.”

 

“Hmmmm~” Viktor hummed, his mischievous side was showing, “You never told me this… Does that mean, you’ve loved me since you were twelve?”

 

“Can’t remember!” Yuuri used the perfect excuse and looked away.

 

“Hmm~~” his lover was snickering now, “Maybe I should have gone looking for you instead of waiting. We could have had so much more time togeth- Wha-!” Viktor was surprised when Yuuri fiercely hugged him, but he did not struggle. After a while, he wheezed with much difficulty, “Yuuri… you’re hugging me too tightly…!”

 

But Yuuri only squeezed tighter, and said, “This is for all the years I wasn’t there for you… and for not knowing, or understanding, even when I was there by your side.”

 

Viktor smiled to himself as he returned the hug, and thought he could never stop growing fond of his lover. Almost hesitantly, he asked, “Yuuri, have I become imperfect in your eyes now that you know I’ve courted death before?”

 

Instantly, Yuuri looked up and answered, “Never! You’re human! …You have feelings… and emotions… and–”

 

“…so are you,” Viktor reminded him, and Yuuri froze, “If you can accept me for my flaws, then you must forgive yourself for yours. I love you, Yuuri… with all of your imperfections included.”

 

Hearing those words, Yuuri felt his chest blossomed with warmth, and the faces of people who treated him with kindness flashed into his mind. Almost too quickly, he realized they all had smiles on their faces, but the smile that brought him the most joy was the one on Viktor’s face. A question popped into his mind then, and even if he was afraid of the answer, Yuuri had to ask, “If I have you with me now, then… who did you have then?”

 

Viktor paused, deep in his thoughts, and admitted, “I had Makkachin.”  

 

“But what about family…!?” Yuuri gasped.

 

“My family lives far from the city. And I… was avoiding them then,” Viktor answered. Seeing how intently Yuuri was listening, Viktor continued, “They never wanted me to become a figure skater. It was all childhood fun at the local ice rink where I would win small contests. Then I got scouted by my ex-coach. He presented me with the idea of being an athlete, and I pounced at it. But my family was not so keen. They kept pointing out every fault I made during training and competitions to discourage me from continuing. That’s why… after everything they had said, I didn’t want them to know how I was failing, or how I needed their help and support.”

 

“And now…?” Yuuri asked.

 

“We get along better now,” Viktor replied with a nod, “They’ve long given up on making me a ‘proper working class adult’ and become quite supportive of me… and us.”

 

Yuuri smiled in relief, and turned hesitant, “…didn’t you confide in your… lover…s?”

 

“Jealous, are we?” Viktor snickered but realized too quickly that he was serious. He cleared his throat, “I never truly dated anyone.”

 

He knew Viktor would never lie to him, but after reading so many blogs, magazines and column write-ups of the flirtatious Viktor Nikiforov dating countless women, Yuuri found it quite difficult to believe his husband. He treaded carefully, “…but the magazines…”

 

“I… had to feed the tabloid and gossips,” Viktor hung his head, and squeezed Yuuri to his chest. He admitted, “There was no one I intended to give my heart… until you.”

 

Yuuri’s heart ached for him, realizing how lonely Viktor must have been during his hardest days without family and lover. Before he knew it, the words had spilled from his lips, “Vitka, will you talk to me?”

 

Viktor was puzzled, “I am…?”  

 

Shaking his head, Yuuri steeled himself and rephrased, “I-I mean… I’m here for you too, if you needed someone to listen to… _anything_ … that troubles you.”  

 

“With you by my side, nothing troubles me,” Viktor smiled and kissed Yuuri’s forehead, “But I promise, I won’t keep secrets from you.”

 

A beep from the side of their bed alerted the lovers. A long arm stretched to the side to detach the mobile phone from its charging cable and returned with it firmly in his grasp. Yuuri froze seeing _his_ mobile phone from the forgotten past; he gulped remembering the mess he had almost caused their relationship.

 

“I think we can print a lot of photos from here for your album,” Viktor purposely distracted him by unlocking the mobile phone and passed it to Yuuri, “Here.”

 

There was not a doubt that it belonged to him, Yuuri realized as he turned onto his back to lean against Viktor’s chest. The apps’ icons all neatly arranged by type and then by colour, which was the exact same way he sorted the apps on his current mobile phone. He tapped on the gallery icon and scrolled through photographs of everyone, and everything. Yuuri noticed many horrible selfies depicting only a part of his own face but with a clear shot of the man behind him: Viktor. Among the thousands of photographs taken, perhaps half of them were of Viktor looking everywhere except at the camera. Yuuri tried to control the tremble in his hands, realizing that his stalker-like habit did not break even after he lost his memories.

 

“Do you still take secret shots of me?” Viktor teased, kissing his beloved’s red ear, “Be honest now~”

 

“…yes…” Yuuri admitted, and prepared his heart to reject Viktor if he asked to see the horrible shots he had taken so far.

 

But Viktor merely chuckled and confessed, “Me too.”

 

“What! When?” Yuuri blurted and looked up at him.

 

“Hey! It wouldn’t be called secret shots if you noticed!” he laughed. Yuuri whined and pestered for his photographs but Viktor would not relent, holding his own mobile phone out of Yuuri’s reach. In truth, he would not have minded it if Yuuri went through the contents on his mobile phone. He did not even put a password on it because he had nothing to hide. Only, he loved to bully his lover. Viktor said, “Alright, I’ll show you one photo if you give me one kiss.”

 

Yuuri pushed himself up and kissed Viktor on the lips.

 

“Lips? My, how bold!” Viktor was surprised. He had expected something less bold from his usually shy Yuuri, perhaps a kiss on the cheek. True to his word, he showed him the latest shot; one of Yuuri fast asleep with reddish eyelids.  

 

“T-T-This is!” Yuuri gasped, realizing it was of him just this morning. He reached for the mobile phone and exclaimed, “Delete it!”

 

“Never!” Viktor snatched his precious phone away again.

 

“But I look horrible!” came the plea.

 

“Every shot of Yuuri is a cute Yuuri!” was the comeback, with a wink.

 

“No, I’m not!” Yuuri pouted. He paused to think before he lunged forward to kiss Viktor again. He even licked his bottom lip this time.

 

“No deal, Yuuri,” Viktor was adamant on not deleting a single photograph of his lover.

 

“How to deal?” Yuuri asked, seriously.

 

Viktor thought for a moment and concluded that he could consider sacrificing one of the many shots he took of the same angle. He replied with a smirk, “Only if you agree that I can take a shot of you when you… _come_.”

 

Yuuri gave up and grunted, “Keep it.”

 

Viktor grinned at his victory, “I _will_ get that shot someday.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Language notes:  
> Japanese : いやだ “iyada”  
> English: no
> 
> Russian : да “da”  
> English: yes
> 
> As always, thank you for reading!  
> If you want to talk to me on tumblr here : https://iarrod.tumblr.com/  
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**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


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